


A Taste of Desire

by casuallyhl



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: ABO society based on equality and consent, Alpha Harry, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Industrial Revolution, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Fire, Fluff, Knotting, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mill Owner Harry, Omega Louis, Slow Burn, Smut, Social Activist Louis, minor character injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-18 10:39:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 104,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14211366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casuallyhl/pseuds/casuallyhl
Summary: “As forward as I have been with you this evening, I am also aware this dinner party isn’t the place to conduct business.” Mr. Tomlinson chuckles quietly to himself, shooting a subtle glance across the table towards their hostess. “And besides, I am sure our hostess would be horribly disappointed to learn that we went away this evening with a business agreement and not a mating one.”Harry, who had been sipping his wine, coughs harshly at this. He splutters, unaccustomed to such blatant statements about mating.Mr. Tomlinson continues to laugh quietly, clearly pleased at Harry’s reaction.“Mrs. Humphreys promised that there was an alpha attending the dinner tonight that I would certainly get on well with,” Mr. Tomlinson continues, voice teasing. “She assured me that we would have much in common since we both work with mills.” Mr. Tomlinson glances at Harry, eyes flashing with mirth. “Little did she know that would be where our mutual interests began and ended.”Or, a Victorian ABO where Harry is the owner of the most successful cotton mill in Manchester, and Louis is an opinionated social activist about to disrupt Harry’s world.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I am so excited to share this fic with you! I've wanted for so long to post a fic that was over 100k, so to reach that milestone has truly been an amazing accomplishment. I have been working on this fic for about a year, so I am so thrilled to finally post it. 
> 
> As with all my historical fics, same sex relationships are completely socially acceptable. And in terms of the violence, a minor character loses a hand in one of the factory's machines. 
> 
> Title inspired by Robert Frost's [Fire and Ice](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44263/fire-and-ice).
> 
> While this is an original story, I took a fair amount of inspiration from Elizabeth Gaskell's wonderful novel North and South. I highly recommend reading the novel or watching the BBC adaptation if you never have.
> 
> This fic took a village, and I have many people I'd like to thank. Thank you to [Keri](http://icanhazzalou.tumblr.com/) for sharing your research on Victorian factories with me. That information gave me such useful jumping off points and helped me create a more accurate representation of factory life. Many thanks to [Taryn](http://tarynsnotokay.tumblr.com/) for keeping my fic medically accurate, whether that be through your own knowledge or asking doctors at your hospital with no explanation as to why you needed this information. Thank you so much for your unwavering support and celebrating each milestone with me. Thank you to [Molly](http://becomeawendybird.tumblr.com/) for letting me tease you with excerpts and for encouraging me to keep going when I had doubts. And thank you for making the lovely fic edit. Thank you [Tea](http://louisarsetattoo.tumblr.com/) for your constant support. It means so much to me, and I love you bunches!
> 
> And most of all, thank you to my Wonder Woman of a beta [Rachel](http://scholasticdreamer.tumblr.com/). You have shown me nothing but unwavering support and enthusiasm ever since I first texted you with this idea. I am so incredibly proud of both of us for this achievement, and I know I couldn't have done it without you. Infinite love and thanks. 
> 
> Forgive any historical inaccuracies. All mistakes are my own. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! xx

_Manchester, England. March 1885._

The mill is filled with snow.

White clouds float around the rafters, breaking off into small pieces, no two quite the same. A coat of snow white cotton layers the workroom, lazy and gentle, directionless. It floats aimlessly until it lands, either on a whirring machine, a scratched, wooden work table, or in the thickly plaited hair of a young girl.

The day’s work finishes, and the workers leave for the evening. They go home to their families – to their wives or husbands, to their sons and daughters, to their mothers and fathers. The machines are quiet now, but the cotton still floats in the air.

The mill is empty, save for its owner.

Harry Styles sits in his office that overlooks the spinning room, books spread out across his large, oak desk. A quill rests in his right hand, the tip still wet with black ink. His emerald green eyes run along the lines of his accounts book, numbers whizzing through his brain as he counts higher and higher.

The most recent annual reports had arrived that afternoon, just as work for the day was finishing. The temptation to stay late and review them had proved too great. Harry knew he wouldn’t be able to go home that evening without calculating the final numbers. He would have been able to think of nothing else as he dined and prepared for bed. He would have driven himself mad with the desire to know, to calculate the profit, to plan for the future. He would have inevitably climbed out of bed well after midnight to come to the mill and find out the results.

Slowly, a satisfied smile spreads across his pink lips.

He’s counted the numbers thrice over and has reached the same conclusion every time.

Hampton Mills has exceeded its previous year's revenue by sixteen percent.

Harry knew that the mill has flourished in the past year. The demand for cotton is at its greatest, the workers at their most efficient, and the mill producing its highest daily capacity since Harry took charge six years ago.

Harry’s success is evident by the numbers in front of him. His profits have increased, and he was able to hire twenty new workers in the past year to keep up with the rising demand.

With one final pleased smile at the numbers, Harry closes his books and stands from his desk. He walks to the large window opposite, overlooking the spinning room.

The large spinning mule machines glisten in the flicker of the fading daylight, bright metal surfaces shining proudly. The cotton lingers in the air, peaceful, calming. It coats the floors and covers the machines in a white, woven blanket.

Harry has no noble blood, but he imagines this is how a great monarch must feel. A king surveying his kingdom. A great empire that provides the livelihood for countless people. A realm that was passed to him by his father’s father, but that he himself has built into something magnificent.

Without his mill, five hundred people would be without work, without a way to provide for themselves and their families, without a way to fill their empty stomachs. They would have to find work elsewhere, if that work was even available. But his mill is here, and they have work. His mill and his success provide them with the opportunity to live.

The mill is his kingdom. His home. His pride.

His grandfather would be proud of how Harry has not only continued his legacy, but made it greater.

But the hour is growing late, and he has duties elsewhere that require his presence.

Unsavory, monotonous duties such as attending society parties hosted by Mrs. Humphreys, the busybody wife of a dull yet prominent Manchester banker.

With a sigh, Harry glances at the clock in his office. If he leaves now, he will have just enough time to go home and change before heading to the Humphreys’.

Regardless, Harry lingers at the window for a moment longer.

With only his reflection in the glass to see him, Harry smiles again as he looks out at the workroom. 1884 was a roaring success for Hampton Mills, and Harry resolves easily and firmly that in 1885, he will achieve even greater success. His mill will produce more cotton than any mill in Manchester. He will discover new ways to increase his workers’ efficiency. He will seek out the most modern and innovative techniques to maximize production.

Hampton Mills is great, but Harry will make it even greater.

Harry takes one final, proud and satisfied look at his mill, before collecting his coat and top hat from the coat rack and stepping out into the spring twilight.

 

Lively music and bright light spills out of the Humphreys’ five story townhouse.

The gas street lamps flicker dully in the fading twilight, providing an illuminated path for the Humphreys’ visitors to follow.

The Humphreys live only four blocks from Harry’s home, so he chose to walk. His butler Jones had asked if Harry had wanted the carriage, but Harry had waved a hand in dismissal. He always prefers to walk, but that never stops Jones from asking.

As he draws closer, Harry fights the urge to return home. He only accepted the invitation to the Humphreys’ party at the insistence of his sister. Gemma’s wife Isobel works in banking with Mr. Humphreys, and Gemma assured Harry that the party was to be a small dinner of close friends.

As Harry watches a group of young women enter the Humphreys’ home, his suspicions about the party are confirmed. It’s not a small dinner of close friends, not at all.

It’s a poorly disguised attempt at matching alphas and omegas. It’s a mating party.

Mating parties have been out of fashion for the past fifty years, but that doesn’t stop the more old-fashioned generation from throwing them.

Before Queen Victoria ascended the throne, mating parties were the only acceptable way to find a mate. Alphas and omegas would attend large, extravagant parties where they would be paraded before one another. Or more accurately, the omegas would be paraded before the alphas. If an alpha found an omega pleasing, they could introduce themselves. Omegas were not permitted to approach alphas, so the omegas could only hope that the alpha that caught their eye felt the same.

Then, partnered alphas and omegas would spend the evening together, and if at the end of the party the alpha had sufficiently enjoyed the omega’s company, the alpha could ask the omega to become their mate. Omegas did not always accept this offer, but it was usually wise that they did. At the time, the government denied omegas the right to work due to their supposed delicate nature. An omega needed to accept an alpha’s offer to mate before they were no longer of age, no longer attractive or appealing enough to marry, for then they would be doomed to a life of spinsterhood and reliance on familial charity.

All of this changed in 1837 with the ascension of Queen Victoria.

Queen Victoria had kept her presentation to herself for the first eighteen years of her young life, but as soon as she became monarch, she shocked the nation by revealing that she was an omega.

In eight hundred years of monarchy, Britain had never had an omega monarch. The country was baffled.

When Queen Victoria married her alpha cousin Prince Albert, she refused to let Albert take over her responsibilities as sovereign, despite the insistence of her advisors. She intended to rule solely, and most of all she intended to improve circumstances for omegas.

One of the first things she did away with was mating parties. The queen was vocal in her distaste for the spectacle, believing omegas should have more choice in their partner. Before Queen Victoria’s reign, it was impertinent and socially disastrous for an omega to approach an alpha. Now, almost fifty years after the queen ascended the throne, alphas and omegas mingle freely. Either can approach the other, and either can propose mating. And no longer is being unmated as socially disastrous as the queen also granted omegas a right to work.

But quite easily, Queen Victoria’s greatest achievement for not only omegas, but for alphas too, was creating more accessible suppressants.

Before the queen’s reign, suppressants were only available for the upper classes. The ones who could afford them. They used the suppressants to dilute their smell, keeping their presentation private. And most significantly for omegas, suppressants also functioned as contraception.

Suppressants were not available to the lower classes, the people’s whose wages went entirely towards providing food and a home for their families. Their smell, and therefore their presentation, was available to anyone who dare sniff the air. Omegas lived in fear of accidentally being outside when their heats began, lest a cruel and selfish alpha smell them and decide to take advantage of them.

When Queen Victoria made suppressants universally available, any of the public’s lingering reservations towards her disappeared. Because of their queen, alphas and omegas alike now felt safe to walk the streets. No longer were they subject to unwelcome scenting and no longer felt unsafe in the days before their heat or rut.

The queen was adored, and the longer her reign has lasted, the more the country has grown to love her.

But that doesn’t mean some of the older alphas and omegas, the ones who remember how it was before Queen Victoria, don’t enjoy throwing mating parties anyways. The parties are not illegal, just unfashionable, and Harry loathes them.

He loathes them because he is an alpha, yet he still feels like he is the one on parade.

Harry has incredible wealth and enviable status. His name is respected across England. He is the owner of one of the most successful mills in Manchester.

And he is unmated.

At parties like these, Harry can feel all eyes on him. The eyes of the wealthy parents who want their omega sons or daughters to charm him, to captivate him, so that he will want to mate them.

For the entirety of the evening, he has young men and women pushed at him, their attributes and high qualities spouted off in a well-practiced list. They want to dance with him, they want to dine with him, but they will not ask him out of respect for absurd and outdated traditions. At mating parties, only he can ask, and he refuses to do so.

Harry is not uninterested in mating, but he is uninterested in this old-fashioned process. He has asked his fair share of omegas to dance before, and even courted a few, but he would not be opposed to an omega asking him to dance for a change.

Harry is an innovator, and he must constantly be one step ahead if he wishes to succeed in his business. He does not rely upon decades old methods to produce cotton, but the newest, the best methods.

Likewise in his romantic pursuits, Harry does not wish to participate in outdated mating etiquette. He does not desire to find his mate because they were paraded in front of him and then he deemed them acceptable after a single evening.

No, Harry wants to find a mate because they fall in love.

And Harry is damn well sure that he will never find a mate to love, and one who loves him in return, at one of these old fashioned, shallow society parties.

But he promised Gemma he would attend, and it has been several weeks since he has seen his sister and he misses her terribly.

With a sigh, Harry crosses the street and arrives at the Humphreys’ doorstep.

“Good evening, sir,” the butler greets, offering Harry a polite smile. “May I take your coat and hat?”

“Yes, thank you,” Harry replies, removing his top hat and coat with practiced ease. His right hand twitches with the desire to run his fingers through his now free hair, but he remembers with frustration that he slicked back his hair tonight for the dinner. As much as he wants to indulge in his nervous habit, he keeps his hand resolutely at his side and his hair annoyingly kempt.

Harry hands the items to the butler with a polite nod and another expression of thanks before moving into the house. He has barely passed the butler when his name is called in an over-excited, performative voice.

“Mr. Styles!”

His hosts, Mr. and Mrs. Humphreys, stand just inside the entry hall, looking every bit as sophisticated and wealthy as they are known to be. They are one of the most powerful and established families in Manchester, and everything about them – from their home to their speech to the way they carry themselves – affirms that fact.

Mr. Humphreys has been a senior member of Floyds Bank for fifty years now, one of the most prominent banks in Manchester. He’s a stuffy, old-fashioned sort of man, who prefers his cigars and horse racing to hard work and business sense. He prefers others to do the work for him while he counts his coin, while Harry prefers to do the work himself and reap his own benefits. Harry always tries to steer the conversation away from business when speaking with Mr. Humphreys, because the elderly banker does not hesitate to criticize Harry’s modern business techniques.

Mrs. Humphreys surely must be in her mid-sixties now, but she acts as young and flirtatious as a twenty-year-old newly introduced to society. She socializes with everyone, always knowledgeable of the latest gossip and eager to share to anyone’s half-interested ear. However, she still manages to maintain an undeniable air of sophistication and superiority. Her grey hair is curled precisely and her sparkling jewels – too large and glaring for Harry’s taste – perfectly match her violet, silk dress. Her brown eyes are sharp, and no detail about her party or interactions between her guests goes unnoticed.

“Mrs. Humphreys,” Harry returns the hostess’ greeting. He accepts her proffered hand and places a fleeting, dry kiss to her knuckles. When he releases her hand, he turns to her husband. “Mr. Humphreys.” He inclines his head towards the gentleman, receiving a nod in return before he turns to address both. “Thank you for your kind invitation.”

“Certainly, Mr. Styles,” Mrs. Humphreys exclaims, smile so wide it appears painful. “But heavens, we were worried you weren’t going to come.”

Mr. Humphreys makes a non-committal noise that Harry takes to mean that he experienced no such worry.

Harry affects a polite smile. The falsities of the upper classes are a necessity, and fortunately – or perhaps unfortunately – Harry learned the role he must perform many years ago. “Apologies. I had some pressing business to see to at the mill that kept me longer than I intended. But I left as soon as that was taken care of so that I would not miss your dinner.”

Mrs. Humphreys’ smile is self-satisfied. “Oh, that’s quite alright, Mr. Styles. I hope your business at the mill was nothing troublesome. Hampton seems to keep growing and growing for you.”

Harry smiles to himself. The numbers from the year’s report that prove just how much his business is growing rattle around in his head. Still, he responds modestly, “I am fortunate that business is well. My mill is producing substantially more cotton, my workers are happy, and demand is high.”

“Very good, very good,” Mr. Humphreys responds, voice gruff. “Mr. John Kingston of Hammersmith Mills came to the bank this week to ask for a loan to pay off a new order of machines. When I heard that, I worried all the mills in Manchester would be struggling. I am glad to hear yours is not.”

Harry fights the flash of irritation to hear another man’s business – a man he knows well and has worked with over the years – discussed so openly. He is sure John would not like to know Mr. Humphreys is freely discussing his loan which should be a private matter between him and the bank.

“We are doing well,” Harry repeats, voice slightly stiff.

Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Humphreys seems to notice; instead, they smile at him inanely.

“I am very glad to hear it,” Mrs. Humphreys responds. “With that mill of yours prospering so, it only makes you even more of a catch!”

Harry’s irritation now settles in his gut. He resents the implication that his mill’s success is so that he can entice an unmated omega with his wealth and status. His mill’s success is for himself and for his family. To provide for his widowed mother and give her every possible comfort. To support Gemma if she ever needs it. And most of all, his mill’s success is for Harry’s pride and satisfaction that he created something great.

But Harry can say none of this to the Humphreys without being impertinent; so instead, he just smiles politely. “Thank you, Mrs. Humphreys.”

She nods, clearly pleased. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, Mr. Styles.”

Grateful for the dismissal, Harry bows quickly to the Humphreys before heading upstairs to the drawing room.

Harry arrives at the top of the stairs and glances around the drawing room. His eyes search until they fall on his sister Gemma and her wife Isobel standing on the other side of the room. Harry feels an immense sense of relief at spotting familiar faces, and cuts through the crowd towards them.

Gemma and Isobel stand near the piano, talking with several other guests. Gemma looks stunning in a light green silk dress. Her long, brown hair is fixed in a tight bun on top of her head, diamond pennants sparkling in her hair. Isobel, Gemma’s newly wedded wife, looks equally as beautiful. She stands at similar height to Gemma, and her short blonde hair is also in a sophisticated up do. Her dress is a deep blue muslin, fitting her slim figure elegantly. They are easily the two most beautiful women in the room.

Gemma and Isobel married two months ago on the first day of the year after a six month courtship. They met when Gemma took her class to the bank for a lesson about finances. Even though the students were only ten years old, many were in poor economic situations, and Gemma had wanted to introduce them to the idea of savings while they were still young. Isobel, a junior associate at the bank, had taught the lesson, and the young omega immediately caught Gemma’s eye. Of course, Isobel was just as entranced by Gemma, and the two began a courtship very soon after.

They married on the first of January and mated on their wedding night. Gemma has never seemed so radiant.

As Harry approaches Gemma, she seems to him like a light shining on a dark street.

Harry does not recognize the other guests, but Gemma smiles in greeting as soon as she sees him.

“Harry,” Gemma greets fondly, turning the group’s attention to him. She offers her cheek, and Harry bends to give her an affectionate kiss.

“Gemma,” Harry replies, grinning at his sister. Even though he’s only been at the Humphreys’ party for barely five minutes, it is the first expression of genuine emotion he has shared so far this evening. He feels himself relax in Gemma’s presence, aware that she finds mating parties just as frivolous and archaic as he does.

Harry turns to his sister-in-law next, giving her cheek a kiss as well. “Isobel. How beautiful you both look this evening.”

Isobel laughs, saying to the group, “My brother-in-law, the charmer.”

Gemma then steps in to make the introductions. “Harry, this is Mr. Edward Wellington and his wife Elizabeth. Mr. Wellington works at the bank with Isobel.” Harry nods to the couple who only look slightly younger than Harry’s twenty eight years. “And this is Mr. Bernard Everton. Mr. Everton works at the school with me.” The man looks about the same age as Gemma and Isobel, and a flush appears high on his cheeks when he smiles politely at Harry. Then Gemma gestures towards Harry. “And everyone, this is my brother, Mr. Harry Styles, the owner of Hampton Mills.”

“Hampton Mills?” Mr. Wellington exclaims, tone clearly impressed. “My brother has stock in your mill, and he’s said it’s made him a very rich man. He’s entreated me to invest myself.”

Harry grins, always pleased to hear others talk well of his mill. “That is very kind of your brother. We always welcome new investors.”

“Yes, but will it make him his millions, Mr. Styles?” Mrs. Wellington teases, tone light.

The group laughs, Harry’s mood easing. “Well, there’s no guarantee,” Harry says practically, but then jokes, “But if I say yes, will that mean I can submit your name as a new investor?”

Everyone laughs, atmosphere growing comfortable.

The group makes small talk as they wait for dinner to be announced. Harry learns Mr. Everton teaches year four while Gemma teaches year five at the school, so they work closely together in helping students transition from one year to the next. Mr. Everton speaks highly of Gemma’s work as a teacher which makes Harry beam with pride.

Mr. Wellington is a junior associate at Floyds like Isobel, so they share several humorous stories from the past few weeks at the bank that have the group chuckling. Harry is pleased at both Isobel’s and Mr. Wellington’s tactfulness, neither mentioning any private financial matters, unlike Mr. Humphreys.

Harry learns that Mrs. Wellington is an artist with a private studio on the high street. She sells many of her paintings to prominent families in London, and Harry expresses genuine interest in coming to see her work. Mrs. Wellington tells him of a show she’ll be putting on in several months’ time, and she promises that Harry will receive an invitation.

Dinner is soon called, and as Harry heads to the dining room, Gemma walks by his side, slipping her arm through his.

“Why were you running late tonight?” she asks, voice low, concerned. They walk slowly, lingering behind the rest of the party for a moment of private conversation. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” Harry answers, exhaling in happy relief. “Gemma – it was the accounts.” Her eyebrows swiftly rise to her hairline, but Harry quickly continues, “The past year’s revenue was so much higher than I expected. It’s substantial, and the reports only came in this afternoon so I needed to stay late and look over them. I just couldn’t wait until morning.”

“Oh, Harry,” Gemma exclaims, but keeps her voice quiet. “That is such wonderful news! You work so hard, and I am so thrilled that it has amounted in such a grand reward.” She leans up to kiss his cheek. “I am happy for you. You deserve this great success.”

“Thank you,” Harry responds, and the siblings share a momentary, private smile, before following the remaining guests into the dining room.

Harry moves to follow his sister, but Mrs. Humphreys immediately intercepts him.

“Mr. Styles, there is someone I want you to meet who I think will prove excellent company to you this evening,” Mrs. Humphreys’ voice is scheming, mischievous, as she guides him to the opposite end of the table.

“Oh, that’s quite alright, Mrs. Humphreys,” Harry protests, despite the tactlessness. He had hoped to sit by Gemma or Isobel this evening, but it is clear Mrs. Humphreys has other plans.

“Nonsense,” she dismisses, stopping at the table in front of an empty chair. “Mr. Styles, have you had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Louis Tomlinson?”

“No, I haven’t, but I –”

The words die on Harry’s tongue as the man seated next to the empty chair blinks up at him. Harry’s throat turns dry, language forgotten, as he gazes upon the man before him.

Elegance and sophistication are a requirement of the upper class, but it seldom is naturally affected. Both gentlemen and ladies are dutifully taught from a young age how to be polite, how to act refined, and how to possess an air of superiority. But it is all performance, unnatural and contrived.

But Mr. Louis Tomlinson surely is the exception. As he sits in the plush, velvet chair, back straight, expression neutral, and appearance impeccable, it is clear Mr. Tomlinson innately possesses elegance and sophistication. Those qualities emanate from him, commanding and captivating Harry’s attention.

Mr. Tomlinson is beautiful.

Harry never received a classical education, but he thinks one hundred poems could be written about Mr. Tomlinson. The man before him possesses beauty so exquisite, all the Greek gods and goddesses would be envious of him.

Mr. Tomlinson’s crystal blue eyes shine brightly even in the dim candlelight of the room. His eyes hold polite interest as he holds Harry’s gaze, long eyelashes sweeping gently across his cheeks as he blinks. Mr. Tomlinson’s light brown hair is not styled as is the most recent fashion, instead lying softly across his forehead. However his beard is trimmed precisely, sharp lines accentuating the devastating cut of his cheekbones. His lips are a light, flower petal pink with a delicate shine to them, as if he had been running his tongue lightly over them only a moment before.

Mr. Tomlinson’s three piece suit is clearly made from the finest material. Even though Mr. Tomlinson is seated, Harry can tell that the cut fits him perfectly. Harry’s suit suddenly feels slightly too big on him, fitting him in an unshapely manner, as he ordered it without a precise measurement. Mr. Tomlinson undoubtedly had his suit made specifically for him, the best tailors in London working to create such a fine piece.

Mr. Tomlinson is beautiful, and Harry is going to spend the evening making his acquaintance.

“Mr. Harry Styles, this is Mr. Louis Tomlinson,” Mrs. Humphreys formally introduces them.

Mr. Tomlinson stands to bow, and as Harry returns the perfunctory greeting, he can’t help but notice how right he was about Mr. Tomlinson’s suit. It clings to him as if it never wants to let go.

“Mr. Styles, it’s a pleasure,” Mr. Tomlinson smiles kindly at him, and Harry feels his knees weaken at the sound of his voice. It’s soft and high pitched, not exactly what he imagined falling from the man’s lips, but it suits him better. His voice is clear like a bell, a lovely thing to listen to.

“And you, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry returns, aware that his words are an understatement.

“Mr. Styles is the owner of Hampton Mills,” Mrs. Humphreys continues, tone smug as if to convey how impressive she finds Harry’s business. “And Mr. Tomlinson has been living in New York for the past few years studying the cotton mills there.” Harry’s eyes pop in surprise, having assumed Mr. Tomlinson to be a lord or of some other high rank, but Mrs. Humphreys doesn’t seem to notice, too pleased at the potential match. “I thought you two would have much to discuss.”

Without another word, Mrs. Humphreys walks away, greeting her other guests around the table.

Mr. Tomlinson and Harry stand there for a moment, neither sure how to begin the conversation. Harry clears his throat awkwardly, but Mr. Tomlinson gives him an understanding smile and Harry chuckles. He holds out a hand, gesturing for them to sit.

“New York, Mr. Tomlinson?” Harry asks as he takes his seat. “I have heard many wonderful things about the city. Growing even more rapidly than London or Paris. What did you think of the city?”

Mr. Tomlinson smiles, body inclined slightly towards Harry as he speaks. “I enjoyed it greatly, Mr. Styles. You are correct that it is growing rapidly. Sometimes it felt like it was changing day to day. A relentless pace, but one I found myself enjoying.”

Harry nods, understanding the appeal of the fast pace of business and growth. “I can imagine so. The countryside has its merits, but I always prefer city life. So much excitement. So many people to meet.”

“Yes,” Mr. Tomlinson nods, smiling. “My family lives in the country, and while I enjoy the quiet on occasion, I quickly find myself growing bored of it after not much time at all. Returning to the city is always a breath of fresh air.”

Harry smiles, chuckling slightly. While no one could ever say that Manchester has fresh air, the constantly billowing smoke stacks are a sign of the city’s progress, its growth. Harry prefers it to the open country skies anytime. “I couldn’t agree more, Mr. Tomlinson. Manchester is an exciting place to be. But I imagine New York also has its own excitement.”

“Of an incredible caliber,” Mr. Tomlinson agrees adamantly. “Although I was there for business, I spent much time taking advantage of the city. The museums in New York are some of the world’s finest. And I am an avid fan of the theatre and found the shows there so engaging. I never wanted for something to do.”

“That sounds like an unforgettable experience,” Harry says kindly. “I would love to visit New York someday.”

“Have you never been?” Mr. Tomlinson enquires.

“I have not,” Harry replies. “I have not had the fortune to travel often. My business keeps me in Manchester primarily, but I travel to London on occasion. Were you in New York for long?”

Before Mr. Tomlinson can respond, a footman appears at Harry’s side to start the first course. Glancing around the room swiftly, Harry hadn’t even realized that dinner had begun. Other guests have already begun eating, sipping their soup as they chat quietly with their dinner companions.

Harry quickly serves himself, ladling soup into his bowl, as Mr. Tomlinson replies, “I was in New York for five years.”

“Five years?” Harry exclaims, accidentally sloshing a bit of soup from his bowl. “That is quite a substantial amount of time!”

Mr. Tomlinson chuckles. “It was, but it went by very quickly. I was sorry when it was time to come back to England, for I knew I would miss it greatly.”

“After living in a place for five years, that is certainly understandable,” Harry remarks. He finishes serving himself and the footman moves on to Mr. Tomlinson.

Mr. Tomlinson nods his agreement, taking the ladle from the bowl and serving himself. “However, the same could be said for England. I lived here my whole life before going to New York, and I found myself missing it while I was gone.”

“I can’t imagine what that would be like,” Harry says honestly. “The furthest from home I’ve ever been is London, and that’s never for a very long time. I’m afraid I would miss my mother and sister too terribly.”

A hint of sadness flashes in Mr. Tomlinson’s eyes. “I have six younger siblings, and I did miss them each horribly while I was away. Even though I wrote to them constantly, it’s nothing like having them right by your side.”

Harry nods while sipping his soup. He does so blindly, not even recognizing it as French Onion until the taste is on his tongue. “I imagine they missed you as well.”

“So they say,” Mr. Tomlinson replies, but then a hint of mirth flashes in his eyes, his lips twitching to a smile. “My family visited me twice during my time in New York, and I think my two eldest sisters were disappointed when I moved back, because they no longer had an excuse to have transatlantic holidays.”

Harry chuckles, hiding his smile in his napkin. “That sounds like something younger siblings would do.”

Mr. Tomlinson laughs in agreement. “Undoubtedly.”

Harry smiles. “Have you spent much time with your family since your return?”

Mr. Tomlinson nods, a fond smile on his face as he sips his soup. “Yes. As soon as the ship docked at Southampton, I was on the first train north. I was very happy to spend some time with my family before coming to Manchester.”

“I can imagine so,” Harry replies. “Which part of England are you from?”

“Doncaster.”

“What brings you to Manchester, then?”

“My father is the appointed member of the House of Lords for Manchester, so it is nice being close to him,” Mr. Tomlinson replies as he finishes serving himself, the footman moving on.

“Mark Tomlinson?” Harry asks, the name familiar to him despite his aversion to politics.

“Yes,” Mr. Tomlinson confirms, taking a sip of his soup. “I’m quite interested in politics, so he has been keen to teach me.”

“Politics?” Harry repeats, confusion saturating his voice. “Were you not in New York to learn how to operate your own mill?”

Mr. Tomlinson chuckles quietly to himself, brows pinching together. He places his soup spoon down as he says, “No, Mr. Styles. I studied the mills in New York so that I could learn about their conditions.”

“Their conditions?” Harry parrots, still perplexed.

“Yes,” Mr. Tomlinson nods. “I wanted to learn about the conditions of the cotton mills in New York, so that I could introduce their health and safety measures to Britain. The mills in New York are exceedingly safer and have much better conditions for their workers than the mills here. I want to help implement new safety measures for the workers so that they will be better protected.”

Any response dies on Harry’s tongue, unable to believe what he’s hearing. Harry has been running Hampton Mills since he was twenty-two years old. His grandfather began preparing him to take over at the mill when he was eight years old. In addition to his reading and arithmetic, Harry had to meet with his grandfather twice a week to learn about the machines – how they ran, what they did, and how they produced the cotton that Harry would someday be able to sell and make himself rich.

Running a mill is in Harry’s blood, and to have it implied that his mill is anything other than top condition is an insult to Harry himself.

When Mr. Tomlinson looks at him in challenge, Harry regains his voice.

“The mills here are perfectly safe,” Harry protests, unable to keep himself from sounding insulted. “I have been running my mill for six years and have never had any serious accidents. No fires or deaths…”

“Cotton mills are prone for disaster,” Mr. Tomlinson cuts in firmly. “If you haven’t experienced a serious accident at your mill yet, then it is surely only a matter of time.”

“We have a safety check once every six months,” Harry continues, any former friendliness in his tone now absent. “One was conducted at the start of the year and Hampton Mills passed every check.”

“How about the health of your workers?” Mr. Tomlinson presses. “Is that a concern?”

“Mr. Tomlinson, you are being impertinent,” Harry responds coldly, hoping to end the conversation.

However, Mr. Tomlinson is undeterred. “In New York, each mill is required to have a great wheel in their spinning rooms. It blows away all the cotton in the air to keep it from settling in the workers’ lungs. Many workers in Britain have respiratory problems because of all the cotton they inhale. The wheels help eliminate that problem, and in New York, workers are living longer.”

Harry is about to respond, when a footman appears at his side to collect their soup bowls. Harry has hardly touched his, too caught up in his conversation with Mr. Tomlinson. Harry and Mr. Tomlinson fall silent as the footman clears away the half-empty bowls.

Harry glances around the table at the rest of the guests. Everyone else seems to be chatting amicably, cheery conversation and light laughter filling the room. Harry and Mr. Tomlinson have kept their voices low during their debate, but Harry doubts that no one has noticed how their friendly discussion has now turned tense.

He is annoyed at the mention of the great wheels. They were first introduced about two years ago in England, having been popular in New York as Mr. Tomlinson has confirmed, but their reception was lukewarm in England. Harry had balked at the price, so substantial for something that would bring him no profit. He had not debated much before deciding against acquiring one of the wheels.

Once the bowls have been cleared away, Harry asks, “How can one be sure of the direct correlation? Between the wheels and the workers living longer?”

“In the past five years since the wheels have been installed, there has been a significant decrease in workers dying of lung complications which were a result of inhaling too much cotton, since the sorting rooms are so filled with it in the air. It is impossible not to inhale. I am sure I have some cotton in my lungs, and I am sure you do as well, and we have only spent the fraction of the time the workers do in the rooms. With the wheels blowing it away, the workers can breathe much easier.”

“And you have seen this for yourself?” Harry returns, disbelieving.

“Yes,” Mr. Tomlinson replies, but his voice suddenly goes softer, no longer on the attack. “I made the acquaintance of many a worker in the mills while I was in New York. They told me themselves how much easier they breathed after the wheels were installed.” He looks up at Harry, blue eyes burning as he says, “You may not believe me, Mr. Styles. You may call me impertinent, and maybe I am. I do not wish to offend you, or claim to know more about your business than you do. But I have studied these mills very closely, and I have seen the grave effects they have on the workers. I do not only refer to your mill, but to all the mills in Britain. I wish to improve all of them.”

“That is quite an ambition,” Harry remarks neutrally, feeling the fight drain out of him at Mr. Tomlinson’s change in tone.

Mr. Tomlinson offers a small smile as the main course is brought out.

The smell of roast beef fills the room, and Harry’s stomach grumbles. He had barely eaten today, and having hardly indulged in his first course, the smell of the main is all too tempting.

Mr. Humphreys carves the roast, a dignified duty for every host. Both Harry and Mr. Tomlinson turn their attention to him, everyone praising the fine cut.

As the meat is served to each guest, Harry takes a moment to observe the room. Gemma and Isobel are seated by Mr. and Mrs. Wellington with Mr. Everton on Gemma’s other side. The other guests, one man and four women, are vaguely familiar, and Harry wonders if he’s met them before at a party such as this. He wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case. Harry experiences a brief moment of thanks that the blonde woman next to him doesn’t seem to mind that he has thus far ignored her all evening. She seems too wrapped up in conversation with the dark headed woman next to her to notice Harry’s rudeness.

Once Harry has received his portion of the main course and a mixture of roast potatoes, baby carrots, and peas, he returns to his conversation with Mr. Tomlinson. “So how do you propose to achieve your great ambition then, Mr. Tomlinson?”

Harry cuts a piece of his roast beef, chewing methodically as he waits for Mr. Tomlinson’s response.

If Harry expected Mr. Tomlinson to flounder under his question, to not have a feasible plan to match his grand ideas, Harry is sorely disappointed.

“Since my return to Manchester six months ago,” Mr. Tomlinson begins. “I have founded the Manchester Mill Improvement Committee.”

Harry pauses, fork halfway to his mouth. It appears he won’t be eating much of this course either.

Over the past few months, he has heard about the Manchester Mill Improvement Committee, or MMIC for short. He and the other mill owners had laughed at the establishment of such an organization, unsure which liberal hothead had formed it, but certain it would amount to nothing.

“ _You_ founded the MMIC?” Harry asks in disbelief.

Mr. Tomlinson nods, clearly proud. “I did. And we already have over fifty members. Many of them are workers at mills, but also local patrons who have heard the horror stories about mill conditions and wish to create safer environments for workers.”

“And what does the MMIC do?” Harry genuinely does not know. Even when he and his colleagues discussed it, they were unsure the committee’s intentions or abilities.

“Recently, our primary activity has been canvassing for a new law that would require mills to install fire alarms,” Mr. Tomlinson explains. “Fires at cotton mills are incredibly common and absolutely devastating both for the workers who lose their livelihood and the mill owners who lose their life’s work.”

Mr. Tomlinson gives Harry a pointed look, but Harry does not need to be told about the dangers of fire in mills. He is fortunate that he has never experienced a fire at Hampton Mills, but he has seen the total destruction that they can cause. Only last year, Greenwood Mills on the other side of the river burned down in seven minutes. The fire claimed the lives of everyone inside, including its owner.

“Well, I am in support of that,” Harry remarks. “I’ve relieved many a worker I caught smoking inside the mill. Believe me, Mr. Tomlinson. I am no keener than you are to have my mill burn down.”

A sharp, surprised laugh falls from Mr. Tomlinson’s lips. He lifts his napkin to cover his smile, and Harry notices with a flurry in his stomach that Mr. Tomlinson’s eyes have crinkled in delight.

“I do believe, Mr. Styles,” Mr. Tomlinson says through his laughter, “that is the first time you have agreed with me all evening.”

Reluctantly, a smile forms on Harry’s lips as well, a low chuckle escaping them. “I’m afraid I must disagree with that, Mr. Tomlinson. I agreed with you that New York seems enjoyable.”

Surprisingly, an even louder, more joyful laugh comes from Mr. Tomlinson. Harry sees a guest or two turn to look at him, but Mr. Tomlinson pays them no mind. Harry can’t help it as his smile grows, pleased to see Mr. Tomlinson so amused.

“I will concede that, Mr. Styles,” he says, laughter still in his voice.

They laugh quietly to themselves for a moment as they eat. Harry takes several bites of his roast beef, determined not to leave this evening without eating anything.

“What other reforms are you looking to propose?” Harry asks, curious now that he has found that he agrees with one of Mr. Tomlinson’s changes.

Mr. Tomlinson doesn’t reply for a moment as he finishes chewing a bite of his roast beef. “Over the past several weeks, we have been compiling a list of local mills to visit.” When Harry freezes at this, Mr. Tomlinson chuckles quietly. “Do not look so frightened, Mr. Styles. We simply plan to visit the mills and offer an inspection to the owners at no charge. We would produce a report of health and safety measures that could be implemented at the mill that would improve the conditions for not only the workers, but also the owners. We would provide the report, and then it is up to the owner what they wish to do with it. We will gladly assist with any changes they wish to make, but they are under no obligation to do so. However, we do encourage it, of course.”

Harry nods, contemplative. It is an interesting proposal, and Harry isn’t against improving health and safety at his mill, as long as it’s financially feasible. His frustration at Mr. Tomlinson does not stem from his lack of willingness to change, but at the implication that his mill isn’t already functioning at anything other than the highest standards.

“We have Hampton Mills on our list to visit,” Mr. Tomlinson continues. “As it is the largest in Manchester, we are very keen to come by.”

Harry blanches, feeling cornered into accepting, but Mr. Tomlinson continues before his fears can manifest.

“I will not ask you here if we may conduct a report for Hampton Mills,” he says. “As forward as I have been with you this evening, I am also aware this dinner party isn’t the place to conduct business.” Mr. Tomlinson chuckles quietly to himself, shooting a subtle glance across the table towards their hostess. “And besides, I am sure our hostess would be horribly disappointed to learn that we went away this evening with a business agreement and not a mating one.”

Harry, who had been sipping his wine, coughs harshly at this. He splutters, unaccustomed to such blatant statements about mating.

Mr. Tomlinson continues to laugh quietly, clearly pleased at Harry’s reaction.

“Mrs. Humphreys promised that there was an alpha attending the dinner tonight that I would certainly get on well with,” Mr. Tomlinson continues, voice teasing. “She assured me that we would have much in common since we both work with mills.” Mr. Tomlinson glances at Harry, eyes flashing with mirth. “Little did she know that would be where our mutual interests began and ended.”

Harry can barely understand what Mr. Tomlinson is saying, struggling to process his words.

Mr. Tomlinson is an omega. And while Harry does not like to assume a person’s presentation, Mr. Tomlinson’s manner could easily be perceived as one of an alpha. He is undeniably confident and assertive, not afraid to speak his mind even at the risk of offending his companion. Omegas are usually considered much more docile and withdrawing; at least the ones Harry has met at these kinds of parties have been.

Mr. Tomlinson continues to shock him.

However, he misinterprets Harry’s silence for horror. “Do not worry, Mr. Styles,” Mr. Tomlinson says, but his smile is not as bright as before. His eyes do not crinkle at the corners, and the corners of his lips struggle to stay upright, as if they wish to downturn. “I did not accept Mrs. Humphreys’ dinner invitation because of any desire to mate with you tonight. She only told me of you after I had accepted, and unfortunately, I could not decline when I realized her intentions. I have not known her for long, but have since learned of her determination to match every unmated alpha and omega in Manchester.” He chuckles dryly. “She and my aunt Agatha are good friends, and they both have made it their mission to find me an alpha, despite my disinterest in their meddling.”

Harry is unsure of how to respond, has never had an omega directly declare their lack of desire to mate with him. Primarily because he has never proposed mating to any omega. And before tonight, he had never met an omega bold enough to decline any potential offers before they could even be proposed.

Eventually, Harry decides to make light of the situation. They have argued enough for the evening. “As long as you don’t tell Mrs. Humphreys you have no desire to mate,” Harry teases. “Otherwise you’ll be invited to every party of hers from now until her last breath.”

Mr. Tomlinson snorts, a rather unsophisticated sound, but Harry finds it oddly charming.

Even though societal standards have been changing ever since Queen Victoria took the throne, Harry is still surprised at how vocal Mr. Tomlinson is about his status and his disinclination to mate. Most omegas, and even most alphas for that matter, seem to be focused solely on finding a mate to share their lives with. Harry finds the change refreshing.

The main course soon finishes, and the footmen clear away the empty plates and bring out the dessert, a chocolate meringue.

However, as they eat their dessert, Mr. Tomlinson broaches the topic of Hampton Mills again, ending any friendly discussion.

“You seem resistant to the idea of your workers’ unhappiness,” Mr. Tomlinson begins without introduction, “but I have heard rumors of a strike since my return to Manchester.”

Harry’s back stiffens, blood turning cold. It is his natural reaction to the mention of a strike, innate and immediate. Harry attempts to keep his voice neutral as he says, “There are always rumors of a strike.”

Mr. Tomlinson makes a non-committal noise. “That may be so, but the mills in Manchester seem to only be growing. I’ve heard about the workers’ increasing unhappiness that the mills are improving while their wages remain the same.”

Once again, Harry feels any friendliness towards Mr. Tomlinson slide away at the probing questions. He sits up straighter, voice becoming hard as he says, “If my workers are unhappy, I’ll thank you to let me handle it.”

“I do not wish to upset you, Mr. Styles,” Mr. Tomlinson says, “but it doesn’t seem that you have been handling it.”

“Pardon me?” Harry’s grip on his dessert spoon tightens, his knuckles turning white.

“Part of the MMIC’s mission is to speak with workers about how they themselves would improve the mills. Everyone who we have spoken to voices higher wages as the most imperative.”

Harry grits his teeth. “I would thank you not to speak with my employees.”

Mr. Tomlinson is undeterred. “We do not speak with them while they are on the clock. Once they finish their work day, they are free to do as they wish. Including speak with my committee. And their testimonies are completely anonymous, so I won’t give you any names even if you ask.”

Harry sighs, releasing his grip on his spoon and placing it on his napkin. He feels a migraine coming on, and aches to rub his temples. He resists however, because he feels that that would give Mr. Tomlinson some sort of victory. Proof that he is getting under Harry’s skin.

“Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry begins slowly. “If you wish to discuss this further, you are welcome to come by Hampton Mills with your committee and we can speak professionally. Until then, I no longer wish to discuss the topic.”

Even that feels like a concession, but Harry no longer wishes to participate in this invasive discussion.

“I will,” Mr. Tomlinson agrees, determination rich in his voice.

Harry does not doubt he will see Mr. Tomlinson at Hampton Mills within the fortnight.

The dinner ends soon after, and Mrs. Humphreys directs the guests back into the drawing room for a nightcap.

Harry walks quietly by Mr. Tomlinson’s side as they enter the drawing room, but Mr. Tomlinson breaks from his side, crossing the room to speak with Mr. Everton. Despite their intense conversation and Mr. Tomlinson’s relentless questions, Harry can’t help but feel a flash of disappointment that Mr. Tomlinson abandoned his side as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

Harry chooses to join Gemma and Isobel and accepts a glass of sherry from a servant.

He struggles to engage in Gemma’s and Isobel’s conversation, eyes repeatedly flitting to Mr. Tomlinson on the other side of the room.

Mr. Tomlinson faces him as he speaks with Mr. Everton, and his manner is so much more relaxed than how he was with Harry at dinner. It seems that Mr. Everton is constantly making Mr. Tomlinson laugh, his head thrown back and eyes shut with the force of his merriment.

Harry scowls at the floor, taking an aggressive sip of his drink.

“You and Mr. Tomlinson seemed quite taken with each other,” Gemma observes, bringing Harry’s attention away from the man in question and back to his sister.

Gemma and Isobel look at him with raised eyebrows.

“I hardly believe we were taken with one another,” Harry denies. “He’s a social activist who wants to reform the mills and had many thoughts about how I should run Hampton.”

Gemma’s mischievous expression falls into one of disappointment. “Well, that’s tactless. I could tell you two were discussing something rather intensely, but I didn’t think it was one of such impertinence.”

Despite himself, Harry feels a rush to defend Mr. Tomlinson. Even though he _was_ impertinent, some of his suggestions about improvement were well founded, such as installing fire alarms.  

Instead, Harry makes a noncommittal noise, downing the rest of his sherry in one sip.

The evening soon ends, and Mr. and Mrs. Humphreys bid their guests farewell at the door.

“Thank you for a lovely evening,” Harry says to his hosts, kissing Mrs. Humphreys’ hand and bowing to her husband.

“It was our pleasure,” Mrs. Humphreys simpers. Harry can see in her eyes that she wishes to ask how his evening with Mr. Tomlinson went, but fortunately the remaining guests are within hearing distance so she doesn’t bring it up.

Harry accepts his top hat and coat from the butler, and with a thank you, Harry steps into the night.

Gemma and Isobel wait for him by the lamppost; both bundled in their coats to keep out the early March chill.

“Good night, dear sisters,” Harry says, kissing both Gemma’s and Isobel’s cheeks. “I want both of you to come around for dinner sometime next weekend. It’s been too long since we’ve spent the evening together.” At Gemma’s raised eyebrow, Harry amends, “An evening without Manchester society’s elite.”

Gemma and Isobel agree, and with another farewell, they step into their waiting carriage and head home.

Harry watches the carriage go, and when it disappears around the corner, he crosses the street.

A sharp peal of laughter has Harry turning his attention back to the Humphreys’ home. Harry stops beneath the streetlamp as he watches Mr. Tomlinson leave the Humphreys’, calling a kind farewell and thank you to the host and hostess.

Harry can’t help but watch as Mr. Tomlinson places his top hat on his head and pulls his coat tightly around his waist. He walks towards the waiting carriages, head bowed slightly to fight off the sharp March chill.

But right as he reaches the carriages, Mr. Tomlinson looks up, gaze immediately falling on Harry.

In a flash, Harry wishes he were standing back in the shadows, unseen and unobserved. But the street light illuminates him, subjecting him to Mr. Tomlinson’s piercing gaze.

However, the distance between them is just great enough that Harry cannot read the expression on Mr. Tomlinson’s face. They study one another, standing on opposite sides of the street, but Harry does not know what Mr. Tomlinson’s verdict is. He is unsure whether he even wishes to know.

After a suspended moment, Mr. Tomlinson nods, short and perfunctory, but undeniably kind.

Surprise rushes through Harry at the simple gesture, and he nods politely in response.

Mr. Tomlinson stands there only a moment longer before disappearing into the carriage.

Harry watches as the carriage rolls away, wheels clicking against the cobblestones. Then he turns around, and with his hands buried in his pockets, walks home.

 

Harry’s prediction of Mr. Tomlinson’s mill visit proves correct barely a week later.

The first order from a new contract arrived earlier that Friday morning, and Harry has spent the past few hours making the necessary arrangements to fulfill it. He’s hardly left his desk, lunch forgotten, too determined to secure the new business to think of anything else.

However, Harry is forcefully pulled from his thoughts after an indeterminable amount of time by a sharp, confident knock on his office door.

“Come in,” Harry calls distractedly, feeling a twinge of annoyance at being interrupted.

Harry doesn’t look up as the door opens, quill scratching against the paper.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Styles. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

Harry starts, attention swiftly shifting from his work to the man standing in front of him.

“Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry replies, dropping his quill and rising quickly to bow. Mr. Tomlinson returns the bow, an amused smile on his lips. “Apologies. It is easy for me to become lost in my work. Please,” Harry gestures towards the chair opposite his desk. “Take a seat.”

Mr. Tomlinson nods, stepping into the room and shutting the door.

Harry steals a glance at Mr. Tomlinson as he moves across the room. Over the past week, Harry had been able to convince himself that he had imagined the confident and authoritative air that Mr. Tomlinson possessed.

Only moments again in Mr. Tomlinson’s presence and Harry is easily aware of how wrong he was.

Since the dinner party, Harry has found Mr. Tomlinson frequently occupying his thoughts. His dinner companion had been opinionated and forthright, and did not hesitate to question Harry’s management style and concern for his workers. Harry had never before experienced such invasive questioning about his business.

Although Harry had expected Mr. Tomlinson to come by the mill (he did invite him, after all; even if it was a poor attempt at silencing Mr. Tomlinson’s interrogation), he does not relish hearing whatever Mr. Tomlinson wishes to discuss.

However, Mr. Tomlinson surprises him when Harry asks, “What can I do for you today, Mr. Tomlinson?”

Mr. Tomlinson glances up at Harry through his eyelashes, gaze almost hesitant before it grows in confidence. He raises his chin, blue eyes burning into Harry’s as he holds his gaze. “Mr. Styles, I would like to apologize for my behavior at the dinner party last week.”

Harry’s lips make an audible pop as they part in surprise.

Mr. Tomlinson continues, “I tend to speak my mind, and my mother always told me that could come across as impolite. I did not intend that, so I apologize if it felt that way. I did not mean to insult you or your work as a businessman; that was never my intention. You are a well-respected mill owner, and from what I hear, a fair one. I hope you will accept my apology.”

Mr. Tomlinson never breaks eye contact, and Harry doesn’t feel like he could look away if he wanted to. He searches Mr. Tomlinson’s gaze for any hint of mirth or sarcasm, but all he can see is a genuine, heartfelt entreaty. Harry is left stunned.

Harry runs a nervous hand through his hair, scratching idly at his scalp. “Well, thank you, Mr. Tomlinson. I will admit I was surprised at your straightforwardness at the party, but I hope I am not so childish as to be incapable of bearing criticism. I appreciate your apology, and of course I accept.”

Mr. Tomlinson’s serious expression softens, smiling kindly at Harry. “Thank you, Mr. Styles.” He visibly relaxes, but still maintains a controlled, confident air. “I will be quite honest with you. I had been keen to meet you professionally, so I was surprised when you were seated next to me at dinner. I will admit I became overexcited at the prospect of discussing business with you, and could not resist speaking to you of such matters. I know now I should not have brought up the subject of our professional endeavors in an environment that was intended to be one of pleasure.”

Harry can’t help but feel a rush of his own pleasure at Mr. Tomlinson admitting his eagerness to make Harry’s acquaintance.

“I understand, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry responds. “And I thank you again.”

Mr. Tomlinson smiles. “I must say, Mr. Styles, despite our disagreements that evening, I thoroughly enjoyed our conversation. It made for an exciting evening, when I was expecting to be bored out of my mind all during dinner while some witless alpha tried to charm me.”

Harry barks a laugh, finding Mr. Tomlinson’s candor amusing when it’s not a criticism of him. “I greatly enjoyed them, too, Mr. Tomlinson.”

A beat passes between them in which they simply chuckle, atmosphere in the room growing light.

“I am glad to hear it,” Mr. Tomlinson says, still smiling but tone turning professional, “for I wish for us to put aside any awkwardness from that encounter and start afresh. Today I approach you as the director of the MMIC, not as your dinner companion.”

“Alright then,” Harry agrees. He closes the ledger on his desk, placing it carefully in the desk’s bottom drawer. Shutting the drawer with a firm click, Harry twines his fingers together, leaning forward on the desk. “How may I help you, Mr. Tomlinson? I suppose you want to conduct your report on the mill?”

Mr. Tomlinson smirks, but shakes his head. “No, Mr. Styles. The MMIC will not conduct a report without your consent. No, today I was going to ask for a tour of the mill.”

“A tour?” Harry questions, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.

Mr. Tomlinson nods. “Yes, a tour. And I would like you to be my guide, Mr. Styles.”

Harry’s brows furrow together. “I am very busy. I don’t have time to take you around my mill.” When Mr. Tomlinson does not respond, Harry continues defensively, “Surely you saw many mills in New York. Why would you need to see mine?”

“The tour would not be for me,” Mr. Tomlinson explains, voice gentle yet confident. “But for you.”

“For me?” Harry questions, tone dismissive. “I do not need a tour of my mill. I know the layout of Hampton better than my own home.”

Mr. Tomlinson nods, expression contemplative. “Yes, I do not doubt you know the mill’s layout very well. But I would like to show you the mill from my perspective.” He raises his eyebrows expectantly at Harry, and any protest dies on Harry’s tongue. “Please, Mr. Styles?”

Harry should say no. He still needs to complete the new order, and he needs to review the week’s expense reports as well as meet with his overlooker for the weekly report about any troublesome behavior with the workers. His work is already expected to keep him late this evening, and Gemma and Isobel are coming over for dinner so he cannot stay overtime.

But when Mr. Tomlinson looks at him with a mixture of hope and challenge, with the sweet addendum of “please” on his lips, all reasons to say no leave Harry’s head as quickly as the bread from the baker’s shop on a Monday morning.

“Very well, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry concedes, rising to his feet.

Mr. Tomlinson’s expression shifts from one of professionalism to delight, and Harry can’t help but hide his own small smile as he rounds the desk. Putting off his work for the day only seems like a minor inconvenience when it makes Mr. Tomlinson smile so brightly.

Harry leads Mr. Tomlinson out of his office, but instead of heading down the stairs into the spinning room, Harry directs him to the raised walkway overlooking the room. Other than the window in his office, the raised walkway is Harry’s favorite place to observe the work being done in the spinning room. The walkway follows along the northern, eastern, and southern walls of the room, giving Harry an excellent view of everything happening below him.

Harry holds the door open for Mr. Tomlinson, and together, they step onto the walkway.

Immediately, the heavy whirring of the spinning mule machines meets their ears. The spinning mules harmonize, whistling and humming and whizzing together as they methodically spin the cotton thread into sheet after sheet of cloth.

Row after row of spinning mules fill the long, wide workroom. Each mule is operated by a worker, some glancing up nervously at Harry as he steps out onto the walkway, others so consumed in the laborious task that they don’t even notice the mill owner’s presence.

The cotton fluff clouds the air, thick and heavy along the walkway as it rises towards the rafters. Harry ignores it, walking through the fluff as easily as cutting through air.

Mr. Tomlinson’s pace is slow as they walk along the southern walkway. His eyes are fixed on the room below, contemplative yet observant. Harry wonders what he sees.

They walk in silence down the southern walkway, turning left at the far end to the shortest walkway, before turning left again to walk along the remainder. During the whole of their journey, Mr. Tomlinson does not say a word.

When they reach the center of the northern walkway, Harry turns towards Mr. Tomlinson, but abruptly stops.

Pieces of cotton fluff have landed in Mr. Tomlinson’s chestnut colored hair, painting it with spots of white. A piece catches on his eyelashes, clinging to the long lashes as Mr. Tomlinson blinks at Harry.

Harry has seen countless people with cotton fluff in their hair – his workers, his family, and even his own reflection. But the cotton fluff in Mr. Tomlinson’s hair makes him look strangely and wondrously ethereal. As if the cotton is a halo that has been gently rested upon his head by some greater, invisible being.

Harry swallows roughly, forcing his attention back to the spinning room.

“Your spinning room is one of the largest I’ve ever seen,” Mr. Tomlinson remarks, awe filling his voice.

Harry beams, a wave of pride washing through him as he admires the bustling workroom. “We have one hundred and two spinning mules here at Hampton,” Harry brags. “That’s more than any other mill in Manchester. The next closest is Hammersmith Mills and that one has seventy-four.”

Mr. Tomlinson lets out a low whistle. “That is very impressive, Mr. Styles. I believe the average in New York is about sixty.”

Harry makes a smug noise. “I suppose New York doesn’t do everything better than England, then, does it?”

He chances a glance at Mr. Tomlinson and finds him already looking back. Mr. Tomlinson’s expression is controlled, contemplative. Harry forces himself to look away, filled with the impossible feeling that Mr. Tomlinson is able to see right through him.

Mr. Tomlinson’s voice is thoughtful when he replies, “The mills in England have higher production; I will grant you that.”

Harry doesn’t respond, knowing that Mr. Tomlinson has more to say.

He doesn’t have to wait long before Mr. Tomlinson questions, “What are your fire safety regulations?”

“What?” Harry asks, not expecting the question.

“Your fire safety regulations,” Mr. Tomlinson nods towards the room. “I noticed at least four potential fire hazards as we were walking, and I’m just curious if you have a plan in place in case the mill goes up in flames.”

Harry splutters, eyes darting around the room to find the alleged fire hazards. “What are you talking about?” Harry demands, feeling the irritation he experienced so keenly during dinner at the Humphreys’ rising to the surface. “What are the fire safety hazards?”

Mr. Tomlinson gestures across the room, tone unperturbed as he explains, “You’re using gas lighting in the spinning room, which is the most modern way to provide light, but not all of the lamps are properly protected.” Mr. Tomlinson points to a light opposite them. “The glass for that light has broken off,” Mr. Tomlinson points towards another lamp by the main door, “as has that one. So not only are they more susceptible to cotton fluff catching flame because of them, it also means that there are shards of glass on the spinning room floor, and I know many of the children tend to work barefoot, which is a horrible injury just waiting to happen.”

Harry grimaces, able to see the flames flickering in the broken glass. The cotton fluff seems to dance around it, teasing the flames.

“As well,” Mr. Tomlinson continues, “you have two lamps in precarious positions.” He points towards the far end of the room, where two extra spinning mules were added several months ago despite the lack of space. “Those mules are too close to the walls and the lamps. If the lamps were to fall, they would land right on top of the cotton and catch fire instantly.”

Harry frowns, brow pinching together. He stands a considerable distance from those two mules, so Harry cannot judge whether or not Mr. Tomlinson is correct. However, he is simultaneously confused and impressed that Mr. Tomlinson was able to spot such seemingly minor fire hazards from such a distance.

When Harry turns back to Mr. Tomlinson, there is a knowing look in Mr. Tomlinson’s eyes. “This is what I trained for five years to do, Mr. Styles,” he explains evenly. “I know how to evaluate a room with a mere glance. I know what to look for – the placement and protection of the lamps being first and foremost in terms of fire safety.”

Harry nods, still undeniably impressed.

“Shall we go to the floor?” Mr. Tomlinson suggests. “We can look more closely at the troublesome lamps if we do.”

Again, Harry simply nods.

Silently, Harry follows Mr. Tomlinson downstairs to the spinning room. Above the door is the first faulty lamp, and as Harry studies it, he can see the broken, jagged shards of glass leaving the flame exposed. Harry’s brow furrows, feeling irritated that such a hazard has been left unfixed.

Harry doesn’t say anything to Mr. Tomlinson as he studies the lights, counting figures in his head to estimate how much the repairs to the fixtures would cost. The glass should be easily replaceable, and Harry resolves to find out how the fixtures broke to prevent it from happening again.

Harry’s eyes then scan the scratched wood floors, looking for any trace of the broken glass. He scrapes his boot through the cotton that has clustered on the floors, but he can see no glass. The sweepers come in twice a week, so maybe they had been able to sweep up the broken glass before it could cause any harm.

Without a word, Harry begins to cross the room to check the positioning of the new spinning mules underneath the lamps. Mr. Tomlinson easily matches his stride.

“The sanitation is not of the highest quality either,” Mr. Tomlinson remarks as they walk along the row. He gestures towards the floors which are damp with water and oil. “Many workers have to work barefoot because of how slick the floors are; their shoes don’t have enough grip.”

“Yes, I know this,” Harry huffs, quickening his strides.

Mr. Tomlinson is undeterred. “Damp floors can lead to infections and illness,” he continues. “The poor sanitation makes them more susceptible. When your workers can’t come to the mill because they are too ill, you lose their amount of work for the day, and that makes you lose profit.”

“How do you propose to resolve the damp floors?” Harry asks, not attempting to mask the irritation in his voice.

“There are several ways,” Mr. Tomlinson muses. “You could place buckets under the machines where they leak and have them collect the excess liquid. At the end of the day, the buckets could be emptied and washed and placed back under the machines.”

Harry frowns at the suggestion. He would have to either hire new workers solely to manage the buckets, or have workers stay later in the day to do the job, but if he did that, he would have to increase their pay. Neither option is financially ideal.

“You could also forego the buckets,” Mr. Tomlinson suggests, “and have someone regularly mop the floors throughout the day.” As if reading Harry’s mind, he adds, “That would be the more financially viable option, I would imagine.”

They reach the end of the spinning room, stopping in front of the mules placed too close to the wall. The spinner at the mule glances towards Harry nervously, clearly worried that Harry has come to reprimand him for some infraction.

Harry ignores the worried looks of the brunette, bearded man and walks to the small sliver of space between the mule and the wall.

The space is too narrow for Harry to fit – a child maybe, but not a grown man – so he stands by the side and looks up at the light fixtures.

Harry feels another flash of annoyance when he sees that Mr. Tomlinson is right. The lamp extends from the wall just far enough, that if it were to drop, it would land on the cotton. He wonders why no one noticed this when the mules were being installed, or if it was simply that no one thought to be concerned.

“The mules could either be moved,” Mr. Tomlinson says, “or the lamps could be repositioned.” When Harry glances over at him, he’s studying the lamps as well, a thoughtful furrow to his brow. After a moment, he adds, “Of course, I would imagine moving the lamps would require less exertion and expense.” He looks down from the wall, gaze landing on Harry. “A fairly simple solution for a problem that could be potentially devastating.”

Harry opens his mouth to respond when he’s cut off by someone walking through the thick cotton fluff to appear at Harry’s side.

“Mr. Styles,” the man greets.

“Robertson,” Harry says, nodding at his overlooker. Mr. James Robertson is a burly man with a thick, red beard. He’s been the overlooker at Harry’s mill for the past two years, but Harry wouldn’t describe their relationship as friendly. Robertson is excellent at his job – being Harry’s eyes and ears in the workrooms – but that doesn’t make him a pleasant man to be around. “May I introduce you to Mr. Louis Tomlinson?”

“How do you do,” Robertson greets, Northern accent thick, only giving a short nod of his head. He doesn’t give Mr. Tomlinson a chance to return the greeting before he continues, “Everything alright, Mr. Styles?” He eyes Mr. Tomlinson warily. “Doing some kind of inspection today?”

“In a way,” Harry replies, tone blank, authoritative. Robertson’s eyes flash to Harry in a moment of panic. Harry continues, “Robertson, two of the lamps at the front of the spinning room by the door are broken. The flames are unprotected, which creates a potential and very serious fire hazard. Do you know how this happened?”

Robertson’s brow furrows together. “The lamps at the front?” Harry nods. “No, sir. I’m not sure how they broke.”

“They will need to be repaired,” Harry states. “I will order the supplies to do so, and you can see to it that they are fixed.”

Robertson’s nod is more of a twitch. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Harry replies, tone clearly one of dismissal. “I will speak to you further at our meeting this afternoon.”

It is only when Robertson has walked away that Harry looks at Mr. Tomlinson. He’s watching Harry, amusement in his eyes, and a pleased smile on his lips. Harry’s lips twitch with the desire to return the smile, but he can’t let Mr. Tomlinson think that just because he is following some of his advice that he will request all of it. “Mr. Tomlinson, I’m afraid I need to return to my work. I don’t have the time to show you the rest of the mill. May I show you the way out?”

The smile on Mr. Tomlinson’s lips falls, expression shifting back to one of neutral professionalism. “That is alright, Mr. Styles. I’ve taken up enough of your time already.”

Harry nods, not trusting his voice to respond.

The point is moot anyways since the only exit is through the door they entered. The two men cross the spinning room silently, side by side.

The whirring of the machines quiets as Harry and Mr. Tomlinson step through the door, closing it behind them. To the right are the stairs leading to Harry’s office; to the left is the corridor that will return Mr. Tomlinson to the streets of Manchester. They pause, and Harry wonders if Mr. Tomlinson is as reluctant to go as Harry is, despite his rude and abrupt ending to their tour.

“I hope you will think about what I told you,” Mr. Tomlinson breaks the silence. There is only one lamp in the corridor, flickering weakly. Mr. Tomlinson is backlit, making his expression difficult for Harry to read. “I wish to help you, Mr. Styles, not criticize you. Hampton Mills is already a great mill; I would like to help make it even greater.”

Harry’s brow pinches together, the words echoing the promise he’d made to himself on the night he first made Mr. Tomlinson’s acquaintance. To constantly improve Hampton Mills. To make it more efficient, more productive. Simply, to make it greater.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Styles.” The words are said quietly, a soft exhale, and then Mr. Tomlinson retreats, walking swiftly down the corridor, opening the far door, and exiting into the sunlight.

Harry watches him go, standing in the same spot long after the door has shut.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry responds quietly, even though no one can hear him but the flickering flame on the wall.

 

Harry can hardly concentrate on his work for the rest of the day.

He finishes the new orders mechanically, and only half listens to Robertson’s report from the workrooms. He’s heard more whispers of a strike, but even that can’t capture Harry’s attention.

Harry leaves as soon as five o’clock comes, joining the sea of workers leaving Hampton Mills, heading home for the weekend.

As Harry walks home, he can’t stop thinking about Mr. Tomlinson’s visit.

Every point that Mr. Tomlinson had made during the tour had been one of practicality. He had pointed out problems that were necessary to fix, not imaginary problems that would only hurt Harry’s wallet. He’s a businessman, and he needs to do what is financially beneficial. He will not spend money if it will not bring him a greater profit.

Safety regulations bring little profit.

That has always been Harry’s belief. Factories are unsanitary because the work is messy and dirty. They do not exist to be places of cleanliness, but to be places of growth and industry.

As Harry walks home, he wonders if it’s possible for his factory to be both.

He thinks of the year’s reports, the increased profit that Hampton Mills has made. Harry has not yet decided how to spend that money – maybe investments, maybe increasing workers’ wages. Now he wonders if he could use it to create a safer workplace.

The mill only has one fire alarm, and that’s in the spinning room where the potential for a fire is the greatest. But other parts of the mill also possess potential for fire, not to mention how quickly a fire can spread past its origin, and Harry knows it’s long overdue to install alarms throughout the mill.

It is possible for him to increase the safety of the mills without having to engage with Mr. Tomlinson and the MMIC. Harry could install the additional fire alarms, fix the dangerous light fixtures, and then have Robertson do regular monitoring checks on the lights.

Yes, that would work well.

Harry will consider Mr. Tomlinson’s suggestions, but he won’t ask him for a full report. Despite Mr. Tomlinson’s clear knowledge, Harry is uncomfortable with another person so clearly seeing the flaws of his mill that Harry was blind to. He doesn’t want an outsider inspecting his mill; no, if any improvements are to come to Hampton Mills, they will be from Harry himself.

Harry does not need Mr. Tomlinson’s assistance.

Harry frowns, pulling his coat tightly around his waist as he thinks about Mr. Tomlinson further inspecting the mill. All of its flaws, its weaknesses, unnoticed by Harry, would be discovered by Mr. Tomlinson. His mill would be vulnerable to Mr. Tomlinson’s criticism, which by extension, would make Harry the recipient of that criticism.

Any flaws in the mill are a result of Harry’s oversight. He is fastidious in making Hampton Mills the greatest mill in Manchester, so whatever shortcomings Mr. Tomlinson finds, he would also be discovering them in Harry.

As a proud businessman, Harry does not relish having his vulnerabilities realized. As an alpha, Harry can’t help but feel a primal sense of failure at not having built a flawless business – at having his imperfections pointed out by an omega. Especially when those primal instincts guide him to provide for and protect omegas, to have one so closely examine his mill makes Harry feel as if he isn’t a good enough alpha.

It’s a ridiculous thought that Harry tries to dismiss, but yet it lingers.

At the dinner party, Harry had never been challenged in such an intelligent and carefully considered manner. Despite his initial annoyance at Mr. Tomlinson’s challenges, Harry undeniably finds himself drawn to him. Drawn to his intellect and his straightforwardness.

Harry had been challenged but not undermined. He had been argued with, but not insulted.

Those distinctions, as insignificant as they may seem, continue to draw Harry towards Mr. Tomlinson.

The fact is that Mr. Tomlinson is an attractive omega, and a primal part of Harry wants to prove to Mr. Tomlinson that he is a worthy, successful alpha.

That cannot be done if Mr. Tomlinson pokes and prods around Hampton Mills.

Harry cannot engage Mr. Tomlinson at the mill, but he nonetheless wants to make the improvements that he can.

By the time Harry arrives home, he feels quite satisfied with himself. He can improve the safety of Hampton Mills without the assistance of Mr. Tomlinson, thus maintaining his reputation as a businessman and an alpha, and he intends to do just that.

 

“What’s on your mind tonight, Harry?” Gemma asks, sipping her wine. “You’ve been very quiet.”

Harry pauses mid-chew of the roast chicken. He glances over at his sister, who is looking at him expectantly. Harry swallows hastily. “Apologies. I’m afraid my mind is elsewhere tonight.”

“He’s probably hiding a lover in the attic,” Isobel teases. “He’s just dying to kick us out so that he can return to them.”

Gemma snorts into her drink, and Harry smiles. “Yes, that’s exactly it, Iz. However did you figure it out?”

“You’ve looked like you were in pain through the entirety of the first course,” Isobel observes. “And I know you love tomato basil soup, so I assumed that it must merely be the expression of a man in love.”

Harry laughs as Gemma scoffs indignantly.

“A look of pain is a sign of love? Aren’t _you_ supposed to be in love?” Gemma fires back at her wife, tone playful. “Barely two months in and you’re out of the honeymoon phase?”

“To be fair, Gems,” Harry adds, “I’m surprised the honeymoon phase lasted that long.”

Isobel cackles, winking at Harry, as Gemma grumbles something about grounds for divorce.

Growing up, Harry always had to endure his older sister’s teasing nature. But now that Gemma has married Isobel, who Harry also loves as a sister, he must endure double the amount of teasing. They are an unstoppable force when they join together to torment him.

On the other hand, Isobel and Harry also make quite a good team when it comes to teasing Gemma. So maybe it balances out.

However, Gemma doesn’t forget her original topic of inquiry. “Is something going on, Harry?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Harry says, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It’s just,” he sighs, “Mr. Tomlinson came by the mill today.”

“Mr. Tomlinson?” Gemma repeats, annoyance in her tone. “What did he want? Didn’t he bother you enough at the Humphreys’ dinner party?”

Harry gives a small smile at his sister’s rush to defend him, especially considering she originally thought Harry and Mr. Tomlinson had flirted all evening. “Today he came by for professional reasons. To discuss the mill.”

“I don’t see why it’s any of his business,” Isobel adds, sipping her wine.

Harry shrugs. “He had some interesting points about the mill’s safety regulations. I decided there was no harm in listening to what he had to say.”

“But he was so rude to you at the party,” Gemma pushes.

“He wasn’t rude,” Harry defends, voice thoughtful. “He was forward and unafraid to say what was on his mind, but he was never rude.”

Gemma and Isobel don’t respond, clearly unsure what to say.

“He apologized,” Harry adds, cutting a slice of his chicken breast and placing it in his mouth. He chews and swallows his food, taking a sip of his drink before continuing. “When he came by today, he told me that he was sorry if he came across as rude. I didn’t relish having Hampton criticized, but I understand that he has professional interest in the mill. So I forgave him. We walked around the mill, discussed its safety regulations, and he made some suggestions. I’ve been distracted this evening because our conversation has just weighed so heavily on my mind.”

Gemma and Isobel don’t say anything for a moment, but then Isobel smiles mischievously at Gemma.

“I was right, Gems,” Isobel smirks. “He _does_ have a lover in his attic. It’s Mr. Tomlinson!”

Harry snorts as Gemma guffaws with laughter. He sips at his drink, feigning annoyance, but Harry can’t help the small smile on his lips or the small voice in his head wondering what it would be like if Mr. Tomlinson _was_ waiting upstairs for him.

Harry cannot deny that the idea holds a certain appeal to him. Despite their disagreements, Harry is undeniably attracted to Mr. Tomlinson. His sharp cheekbones and even sharper wit. His blue eyes and opinionated thoughts. His small, curvy figure and soft, lilting voice.

Harry may not desire to have Mr. Tomlinson at Hampton Mills, but to have him in another way, well, Harry cannot say he is opposed.

However, Harry hastily dismisses the idea. It is not proper to have such thoughts about someone he hardly knows. Just because he is an alpha, and Mr. Tomlinson is an omega, does not make it acceptable to entertain such thoughts.

Gemma, Isobel, and Harry say nothing more about it for the rest of the night.

 

The following night finds Harry at another dining table, but with entirely different company.

Harry idly swirls the whiskey in his glass, cigar smoke thick as the men around him indulge in an after dinner drink and smoke.

Every few months, the five most prominent mill owners in Manchester have dinner together. The evening is filled with shop talk – comparing new methods and machines, bemoaning the inability to find good workers, and bragging about new wealth.

These nights are tedious to Harry. While he enjoys hearing about what may or may not be working for the other owners, every other discussion is the same. Lazy workers. Impending strike. Alpha mill owners looking for eligible young omegas. They’re conversations Harry has heard one hundred times, and he has nothing to contribute.

The main topic of tonight’s conversation is installation of the wheels. Several mills in Lancashire have installed them recently, and the Manchester owners have been disparaging the foolishness of such an unnecessary expense that will produce no profit.

It’s a point Harry has often agreed with, but with his meeting with Mr. Tomlinson still fresh on his mind, the callousness of the other men’s words grates on him.

“My friend Elliott installed one of the wheels,” Sebastian Fullworth of Irwell Mills informs his companions. “And he told me he’s already regretting it.”

“No surprise there,” Charles Edgeware of Bridgewater Mills chuckles.

“Bloody great expense, and what for?” John Kingston of Hammersmith Mills adds. “A little less cotton in the spinning room?”

Sebastian nods adamantly. “Precisely. It doesn’t even clear up the air completely, just a little bit. And now the wheel’s gone and made the workers greedy.”

“What do you mean?” Oliver Guildford of Victoria Mills inquires.

“Some of the workers began demanding more money for working in a place that has a wheel.”

“What?” Oliver, John, and Charles exclaim simultaneously.

“They got it into their heads somehow that the wheels make them hungry, so they’re saying Elliott should pay them more for food.”

Charles laughs loudly. “They’re just hungry because their bellies aren’t as full of cotton!”

The other men laugh uproariously, glasses clinking and smoke swirling in the air.

“Such a bloody waste,” Oliver shakes his head. As he laughs, his eyes fall to Harry, who has remained quiet during the exchange. “Oh, come on, Harry. Surely you agree that the wheels are a needless expense?”

Harry smirks, sipping his drink as he contemplates his response. When Harry responds, he’s surprised to hear himself echoing Mr. Tomlinson’s words. “I agree that they are a great expense, but I am unsure if they are needless. They can keep workers healthier. Help them breathe easier. Help them live longer. It may not be a profit to count in pounds, shillings, and pence, but it is a profit nonetheless.”

“Harry, you’re not serious?” John asks, huffing a confused laugh.

Before Harry can respond, Charles grumbles, “He sounds like one of those damn MMIC members. Constantly spewing shit about health and safety.”

“Oh that reminds me!” Sebastian jumps in before Harry can respond. “I was walking by Town Hall on Wednesday and someone from the MMIC was handing out bloody leaflets. Can you believe it?”

“Leaflets?” Charles exclaims, smoke exhaling as he laughs. “What in the hell could they put on a leaflet? Do they think they’re revolutionaries or something?”

“Going to storm the mill yard with torches and pitchforks,” Oliver adds.

The other men laugh. Harry sips his whiskey quietly.

When their laughter subsides, Harry lowers the glass from his lips, wrist flicking lazily as he swirls his drink. “Actually, the director of the MMIC came by Hampton this week,” Harry says casually.

He is met with stunned silence. After a beat, Harry glances up to see the four other men gawking at him. The cigar hangs from Sebastian’s lips precariously.

“And?” Oliver prompts. “Did you kick him out? Tell him what you think of outsiders who come in and try to run our business?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, I listened to what he had to say.”

“No wonder he’s extolling the installation of a wheel!” Sebastian says accusingly. “Those bastards have brainwashed him.”

Harry’s hand tightens imperceptibly around his whiskey glass. “I’d watch your tone, Sebastian,” Harry responds coolly, unable to help a bit of an alpha growl seep into his voice. “You’d be best to remember who you’re speaking to.”

Sebastian glares at him for another charged moment, mustache twitching, before dropping his gaze and aggressively puffing on his cigar.

“I listened to what he had to say,” Harry repeats, firmly locking eyes with each man as he speaks. “Mr. Tomlinson was very observant and made some very wise suggestions about how to improve the safety of the mill at little expense. It will only benefit my mill to listen to what he had to say.”

“What kind of things did he say?” John asks, tone curious.

Harry smiles at his friend. Of the men in the room, Harry finds John the most open-minded, the most agreeable. “He had many ideas about fire safety.” John sucks in a breath, and Harry remembers how Hammersmith Mills had a minor fire two years ago, which was thankfully stopped before it could devastate John’s mill entirely. “Mr. Tomlinson pointed out several different hazards in the spinning room which had escaped my notice. I plan to resolve them immediately to decrease the risk of fire.”

The four men nod simultaneously, all understanding the dangers of fire despite their varying degrees of stubbornness.

“Will you engage him further?” Charles asks, tone cautious but still judgmental. “Allowing an outsider come into your mill and tell you how to run it?”

Harry smirks, finishing the remainder of his whiskey. “No. I won’t.”

The room seems to release a collective sigh of relief, tension releasing as Harry confirms that he won’t be encouraging an outsider to come into their midst.

The conversation winds down after that, and Harry finds himself relieved that he can go home. He bids the men good night before stepping outside into the brisk night air, thankful that no matter how successful his mill has become, he has not acquired the greedy and callous nature that is so prominent in the other Manchester mill owners.

 

Harry keeps his word.

The broken glass is replaced; the lamps too close to the machines are moved. Harry puts in an order for two new fire alarms and is promised by the manufacturer that they will be installed immediately.

Two weeks have passed since Mr. Tomlinson’s visit to Hampton Mills, and Harry hasn’t heard a word from him since. He tries to find it in him to be glad that he hasn’t had to deal with the frustrating omega’s constant challenges and sharp words, but he does a poor job of convincing himself.

The first Thursday in April finds Harry at his desk reviewing his books when there’s a knock on the door.

“Come in,” Harry calls, closing the ledger and putting it to the side. As the door opens and the visitor enters, Harry smiles. “Ah, Mr. Wellington.” Harry stands, reaching out to shake the man’s hand. “How good it is to see you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Styles,” Mr. Wellington replies, shaking his hand firmly. Harry hasn’t seen him since the Humphreys’ dinner party, but he looks well. Suit impeccable. Hair neatly styled. “It’s good to see you, as well.”

“Please, have a seat,” Harry gestures for him to sit. The two men take their seats. “How are you this afternoon? How is your wife?”

“Very well, both very well,” Mr. Wellington replies, taking his hat off and placing it on Harry’s desk. He gives Harry a friendly smile. “Actually, we recently received news that Elizabeth is expecting a child.”

Harry returns the smile, genuine excitement bubbling inside of him at the mention of a baby. “My sincerest congratulations. How very wonderful for both of you.”

Mr. Wellington nods excitedly. His expression is bright and hopeful, and Harry is struck by how young he looks. When they first met, Harry had imagined Mr. Wellington to be about his age. But now seeing him, Harry wouldn’t think him older than twenty-five. “Thank you so much. The baby – it’ll be our first.”

“The first of many, I presume?” Harry teases.

Mr. Wellington laughs jovially. “We certainly hope so. I want a house filled with children.” He pauses, smile still on his lips, before it turns to a slightly more serious expression. “Actually, that’s the reason I came to see you today.”

Harry’s brows pinch together, confused by the segue. “What can I do for you?”

Mr. Wellington looks at him, and while hope remains in his expression, a hint of nervousness also gleams in his eyes. “Elizabeth and I have always discussed having a large family, and now that we’re beginning, it was as if I suddenly realized how expensive that could be.” He huffs a laugh. “And I’m by no means financially wanting with my position at the bank, but I would like more security. An alternate form of income.” Harry raises his eyebrows, understanding making his lips twitch. “We briefly spoke at the Humphreys’ dinner party about the potential of an investment. We didn’t discuss it in very serious terms, but I would like to do so now.”

Harry nods, easily switching into a business mindset. He feels a thrill in his stomach at the potential of a new investor, at the potential of a new source of financial support for his business.

They discuss Mr. Wellington’s potential investment – the amount of money he would give, the risks, and then his eventual profit. Some investors take a fair amount of persuading, and Harry knows every trick in the book to convince them to hand over their money. But Mr. Wellington seems quite keen to invest and takes little convincing. It’s as if he had already made up his mind before he even entered Harry’s office. Nevertheless, Harry assures him that all his other investors have only ever benefited from their decisions, Mr. Wellington agreeing as he mentions his brother’s profit from the investment.

“This is a personal investment, yes?” Harry clarifies as he draws up the paperwork. “Not through Floyds bank?”

Mr. Wellington shakes his head. “No, this investment is separate from Floyds. I’m investing as a private citizen.”

Harry nods. “Excellent.”

The paperwork is drawn up, Mr. Wellington agreeing to buy ten shares in the mill. Harry gives him a price, and Mr. Wellington agrees immediately. They sign.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Wellington,” Harry says as he shows him the door. “I can assure you that your money is in good hands.”

Mr. Wellington laughs, placing his hat back on his head. “I believe you, Mr. Styles.”

“Please give your wife my best,” Harry says. “And offer her my congratulations. I’m so very happy for both of you.”

Mr. Wellington smiles, bids Harry farewell, and then disappears out the door.

Harry’s smile stays on his lips as he returns to his desk, fingers running over the newly signed document promising him five thousand pounds over the next six months.

Figures are whirring in his head, already planning which ways he could use the money to make Hampton Mills even greater, when an agonized, horrible scream slices through the air.

An overpowering, immobilizing sense of dread washes over Harry, his gut clenching, his heart plummeting.

He’s moving before his mind can even register it, scrambling towards the door and racing down the steps into the spinning room. The screams continue, and Harry hears shouting over the clanging of the machines.

Harry stumbles into the spinning room, eyes wide and heart in his throat as he takes in the sight before him.

Mayhem. Screaming. The workers are running down the center aisle towards the noise, calling for help, fear and concern saturating their tones.

Harry joins the mob, shouting, “Out of my way!” as he charges down the aisle. Workers move hastily to the side, curious as to what happened, yet still afraid to get too close.

The screaming is only more wretched the closer Harry gets, sobs mixing in so that the noise shakes the whole spinning room.

Harry slows as he comes to the huddle of workers, panicked yet immobile. He hears cries of “Oh my God!” and “We need a doctor!” rising from the mass of workers. Harry shoves his way through them, not even bothering to apologize.

As he shoves through the last layer of people, Harry freezes at the sight before him.

Blood. Blood everywhere.

A woman lies on the ground, face contorted in agony, tears pouring down her ashen face, cradling something crimson and gushing against her chest. For a moment, Harry doesn’t even know what he’s looking at, too horrified and shocked to understand the scene in front of him. A sick understanding dawns on him as he realizes that the woman is cradling her arm to her chest, the blood gushing from the open wound where her hand should be.

Two other women are next to her, trying to take her arm and wrap it in dry clothes. The woman just screams louder as they try to touch it, her body shaking uncontrollably with the force of her sobs.

Through her tears, her eyes suddenly land on Harry. They stare at one another for a moment, Harry frozen by the sight in front of him. The woman continues to cry, gasping for breath, but she doesn’t look away. On a harsh sob, she exhales in an agonized rasp, “Help me.”

Her words release whatever restraints were holding him back. Turning to the crowd behind him, Harry demands, “Someone go fetch the doctor.” Several people scramble away as Harry continues. “Bring me dry linens from the storage closet. Fill up a basin of water and bring it here. Hurry! And everyone back away – we need to give her space.”

Given tasks to do, the crowd quickly disperses, everyone willing to help or at least remove themselves from the gruesome scene.

As Harry turns back to the injured woman, he only then notices Robertson standing nearby, watching on uselessly.

“What the hell happened?” Harry demands of his overlooker, crouching down next to the woman. Robertson doesn’t respond, clearly stunned by the gore before him. To the woman, Harry says, “You’re going to be alright; you’re going to be alright. Can you tell me your name?”

The woman is hyperventilating so strongly, body writhing in such anguish that Harry is unsurprised that she doesn’t respond.

“Her name is Christine Payne,” the blonde woman holding her responds, gently wrapping Mrs. Payne’s arm as a brunette woman tries to hold her still. The blonde woman’s hand trembles as she wraps Mrs. Payne’s arm in her own apron.

The blonde woman’s clothing is saturated with blood, hands and arms covered. Wisps of hair have fallen from her bun, hanging down in front of her eyes as she works.

Mrs. Payne continues to cry, shaking. Her right arm, the one not being tended to by the blonde woman, is fisted in her dress, clawing and tearing at the fabric as she tries to release some of the tension. Desperate to help, Harry grabs her hand, giving it a firm squeeze so that Mrs. Payne knows to squeeze back. Her eyes are shut, so Harry doubts she’s even aware of what is happening, but she squeezes his hand back tightly, blunt fingernails digging into his skin.

“What happened?” Harry demands, unable to keep the anger out of his tone. Anger that such a horror has happened under his command. “How did this happen?”

“She – she,” the brunette woman begins, voice trembling. “She wasn’t doing anything –” the woman gasps, choking on a sob “–unusual. She was just working. I was at the mule next to her, and all of a sudden I heard a thud, like she’d fallen, and then she started screaming and I saw all the blood.” Tears run down her face, rubbing Mrs. Payne’s shoulders soothingly as the blonde woman finishes wrapping her arm.

“Did you see anything?” Harry asks Robertson, voice harsh and undeniably authoritative.

“No,” Robertson replies gruffly. “I was at the south end of the room by the watering station. I heard the screaming and came as quick as I could. I only got here moments before you did.”

Harry nods, turning his attention back to Mrs. Payne.

“Can we move her somewhere more comfortable?” the blonde woman asks, blood soaked hands twisting together.

“We shouldn’t move her until the doctor arrives,” Harry decides, giving Mrs. Payne’s hand a gentle squeeze. Her grip has gone fairly lax, eyes drooping even as she continues to cry. She’s probably about to faint from blood loss and emotional turmoil, but Harry knows she needs to stay awake for the doctor. “Keep her awake,” Harry orders to the two women.

Harry looks around him, realizing that other workers have brought the basin of water he asked for without informing him it had arrived. “Why did no one tell me this was here?” Harry barks. He snatches a cloth and dampens it, handing it to a scrawny man standing closest. “Dab her face. Cool her down. We need to keep her awake for the doctor.”

The man nods, accepting the cloth and quickly kneeling by Mrs. Payne. The group works in silence, watching and holding the injured woman for several tense minutes before someone calls across the room, “The doctor is here!”

A short, middle aged man with a brown beard appears through the crowd, black bag clutched in his hand. Harry idly remembers that his name is Dr. Clark, having seen him come to the mill before to tend to workers with less serious injuries or illnesses.

Dr. Clark freezes at the sight before him. “Good God,” he breathes, before dropping his bag and kneeling down next to Mrs. Payne. “What happened?” Dr. Clark asks, taking Mrs. Payne’s face in his hands. Her head lolls, eyes half closed as he pats her cheek, trying to keep her awake.

The two women shakily recount the story as Dr. Clark examines Mrs. Payne, slowly unwrapping the makeshift bandages to examine the horrific wound.

“Thank you,” Dr. Clark says as the women finish their account. “If you all could please give us some space,” he requests.

The women nod. The brunette woman presses a trembling kiss to Mrs. Payne’s forehead before standing up and backing away. Harry stands as well, the two women stepping around Mrs. Payne carefully.

As they reach Harry, he stops them. “Go home for the day,” Harry gently instructs. “Thank you for helping Mrs. Payne, but please. Go home and rest. Come back tomorrow.”

The two women don’t protest, simply nodding. They are covered in blood and dirt, faces grimy and hands red. “Thank you, Mr. Styles,” they both say quietly.

Harry nods, and that’s all the permission they need to leave. Both women hastily exit, the crowds parting easily for them.

Once the two women have left, Harry looks back at where Dr. Clark is examining Mrs. Payne. She seems to have fainted, but Dr. Clark is carefully redressing her wound with fresh medical dressing. Harry’s stomach still turns at the sight.

He steps towards Robertson, head throbbing. “We cannot let this happen again,” Harry says lowly.

Robertson doesn’t respond; Harry is glad. He wouldn’t listen to any protests anyways.

Harry and Robertson stand to the side without saying anything else, waiting for Dr. Clark to finish.

When he does, he turns to Harry. His eyes flit to the group of workers still watching from behind them. “Someone come lift her,” Dr. Clark orders. “We’re going to take her home.”

Several of the stronger looking men step forward, gingerly picking Mrs. Payne up, careful of her bandaged hand.

Dr. Clark walks up to Harry, gesturing him to the side. In a low voice, Dr. Clark says, “You’ll need to clean out the machine that she was working at. If you find…” Dr. Clark trails off, raising his eyebrows expectantly at Harry “…anything that _shouldn’t_ be in there, please wrap it up and bring it to me. I’ll be able to dispose of it properly.”

Harry’s stomach churns at Dr. Clark’s words, but he nods regardless.

“Do you think she’ll be alright?” Harry can’t help but ask, knowing he sounds foolish.

Dr. Clark fixes him with a pained look, and Harry knows he won’t receive the answer he wants. “She’ll never be able to work here again,” Dr. Clark says tonelessly. “She will be in a lot of pain for a long time, but it will eventually heal. I will instruct her on how to keep it from getting infected. That will help prevent it from getting any worse. Does she have any family that can help her?”

“I don’t know,” Harry responds, feeling queasy. He wonders if Mrs. Payne has a partner, a husband or wife, who doesn’t yet know how brutally she’s been mutilated. How terrified and heartbroken they’ll be when Mrs. Payne is brought home, carried by a group of men because she has lost too much blood to stand on her own. He wonders if Mrs. Payne has any children. Children who will cry at seeing their mummy so hurt, in so much pain. He wonders if they’ll have enough income without Mrs. Payne’s hours at the mill now. How many mouths does she have to feed? How has this family’s life been destroyed by only a moment of error at the hands of the unforgiving machines?

“I’ll see to it that she gets home safely,” Dr. Clark says, noticing Harry’s distress. “I will do everything in my power to ease her pain as much as possible.”

Harry nods. “Thank you.” Just as Dr. Clark steps away, Harry reaches out a hand, halting him. Quietly, Harry says, “Please send the bill to me.”

Dr. Clark studies him for a moment, clearly not expecting Harry’s instruction. After a moment, Dr. Clark nods. “As you wish, Mr. Styles.” Without another word, Dr. Clark turns away, the men carrying Mrs. Payne following him.

“Be careful with her,” Harry calls, voice sounding strained even to his own ears.

“Yes, Mr. Styles,” comes a chorus of soft replies.

Harry watches as they go, the men walking carefully with Mrs. Payne, keeping her elevated and making sure they don’t run into any machines. Their pace is slow and cautious, but Harry still feels as if they are moving too quickly, recklessly. Worried that any step will send Mrs. Payne plummeting to the ground.

Once they’re gone, Harry releases a shaky breath. He runs a hand through his hair, feeling his stomach turn when he realizes his fingers are sticky with blood, catching on his short curls.

Harry is about to return to his office, when he notices something out of the corner of his eye. Turning slowly, Harry gasps at the sight before him.

Snow covered in blood.

The fresh, white cotton, caught in sheets on the spindle, is splattered with dark red blood.

The stain is like red wine on a white carpet, and Harry could almost convince himself that’s what he’s looking at. But instead of the strong smell of alcohol, he can smell the thick, metallic scent of the blood. Gruesome and deep and smothering the cotton.

Harry turns sharply from the sight of the bloodied spinning mule.

The remaining workers look at him silently, expectantly. Some have terror in their eyes, tears dampening their cheeks.

“Everyone go home for the day,” Harry instructs, voice shaking only slightly with emotion.

Murmurs of confusion rise up from the crowd, everyone looking at Harry quizzically.

“Go home,” Harry repeats. “We’re not running the machines for the rest of the day. If anyone wants to stay, you can clean out –” he gestures jerkily towards Mrs. Payne’s machine “–the machine, but then you can go home. We’ll start back tomorrow. But until then, go home.”

The workers disperse, some staying to clean the damaged machine. Harry doesn’t spare them a glance, striding towards his office, thinking he’ll also go home for the day.

“What are you doing?” Robertson comes along Harry’s side. “You’re sending everyone home before the end of the day?”

Harry grits his teeth. “I don’t want any more injuries today.” He speeds up his pace, but Robertson matches him.

“The mill is already going to lose profit by having one worker out for the day,” Robertson continues. “You want to lose the whole day’s work?”

“If it will prevent any other injuries today, then yes.”

“But they’ll be working again tomorrow. It’s just as likely they’ll be injured then, too.”

“I’ll not have them work immediately after watching a woman be mutilated by one of our machines,” Harry snaps. “They’ll be more nervous, more liable to make errors. They are in no state to work, and I will not have any more injuries today.”

Harry reaches the end of the spinning room, stepping out and heading upstairs to his office. Robertson follows.

As Harry steps into his office, he walks over to his bookshelf and pulls out the record book of his employees. He thumps it onto his desk, sitting heavily down onto his chair and begins to thumb through it.

“Do you know if Mrs. Payne has any family?” Harry asks. “Spouse? Children?”

“I don’t,” Robertson replies, voice gruff. “That’s not one of my duties, sir.”

Harry ignores him.

As Harry scans the list of workers, his eyes land on Mrs. Payne’s name. Next to her name is her date of hire, and then what Harry paid her per hour last month. Harry’s brow furrows, doing a quick calculation in his head.

The sight of the bloodied cotton flashes through his mind, and Harry clenches his eyes shut, fighting a wave of nausea rocking through his stomach.

The stain on the cotton is like a lamb led to slaughter. The lamb’s innocent blood spilling over its soft, full coat. Unnecessary and cruel. A sacrifice made by selfish, more powerful beings, willing to slice and cut and bleed and kill an innocent for their own salvation.

Except Harry is the selfish, powerful being. Disregarding the welfare of his workers for his own financial profit. And now Mrs. Payne has paid the price.

Harry opens his eyes, stomach settling, and mind determined.

“We will pay Mrs. Payne compensation,” Harry decides.

“What?” Robertson demands, horror in his tone.

Harry’s voice stays cool and steady as he looks up at his overlooker. “Mrs. Payne lost her hand today, Robertson, or did you not notice? She lost her hand and now she can no longer work. We will provide her with compensation to offset the financial losses that will undoubtedly hurt her family.”

“But, sir,” Robertson protests, flustered. “If you do that, everyone with so much as a scrape from work will demand money. They’ll be sticking their hands in the machines for an extra shilling. It’s a horrible idea.”

“We will pay her compensation,” Harry repeats firmly.

“You can’t –”

“I can,” Harry cuts in, standing up. “And I will. I don’t believe that is your decision to make, Robertson.”

They stare at each other for a moment, anger radiating off of Robertson. Eventually, he backs down, looking away. “No, sir.”

“Good,” Harry replies. “Now, I advise you to go home, too. We’ll be back again tomorrow at the same time as always.”

Robertson nods and then hastily leaves Harry’s office.

Alone, Harry slumps in his chair, only now realizing how his hands are shaking. He looks down at them, stained with blood.

The nausea Harry has been fighting since arriving at Mrs. Payne’s side finally overtakes him. Harry hunches over and empties his stomach onto the floor, gagging and spluttering. The sickening smell of spilled blood is still pungent to him, and he heaves again as the smell invades his senses.

Harry’s chest rises and falls quickly as he catches his breath, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He feels disgusting, covered in blood and vomit and guilt.

Harry squeezes his eyes shut, resolve settling over him. Nothing like this will ever happen again. Not while he can control it.

With a resigned sigh, Harry sits up, grabs a quill and a piece of paper, and begins to write. He knows exactly what he has to do.

 

Harry is the first at the mill the following morning.

He had barely slept at all the night before, mind too busy and distracted to provide him with any rest. He had bathed thrice over before bed, feeling as if his skin was still covered in blood. He only ceased the baths for the sake of his poor servants who had to heat each bucket of water before carrying it up three flights of stairs for Harry’s use.

Regardless, as he dressed in his white nightclothes, he couldn’t help but think of the bloodied cotton, convinced that he could still see a reddish tint stained on his hands.

The night had seemed endless, Harry unable to stop hearing the screams that had shaken Hampton Mills. They played as fresh in his mind as if they were happening in that moment, as if Mrs. Payne was lying on the floor of his bedroom, bleeding all over his carpet.

Constant waves of nausea washed over him as he thought about how much pain Mrs. Payne must have been in. The horrible, intolerable, blinding agony of having a limb ripped mercilessly, jaggedly from one’s body.

Harry’s only consolation was thinking of the note he had sent before he left the mill for the day. The note would make things right. The note would insure that nothing like this ever happens again at Hampton Mills.

Harry’s mix of restlessness, anticipation, and guilt has him at the mill even earlier than usual. None of the workers have arrived yet, the mill strangely quiet.

Harry lets himself into the spinning room, and his hands tremble as he returns to the place where he witnessed such a gruesome event only the day before.

Slowly, deliberately, Harry walks through the spinning room. He approaches the mule where Mrs. Payne had been working, nearly halfway down the long, narrow workroom. The blood has been cleaned off of the gleaming metal surface, the ruined cotton disposed of. Harry can hardly even think about what happened to the dismembered hand, imagining nothing more of it exists, demolished in the spinning mule’s unforgiving rotations.

Harry examines the machine, but feels no desire to get too close to it. He is satisfied that it is clean, and will hire someone new to work at it. None of the current workers would want to use it purely out of superstition. Harry doesn’t blame them.

Glancing down, Harry studies the wooden floor where Mrs. Payne had lain. Dark stains mar the floorboards, swirling in a gruesome pattern. Harry idly remembers Mr. Tomlinson’s words about the floors – always wet and dirty. They need to be cleaned immediately. The blood stains need to be removed immediately. Harry will set someone to that as soon as the workers arrive.

Taking one last look around the empty spinning room, Harry returns to his office.

In an attempt to remove the previous day’s disaster from his mind, Harry opens his books. These books he can trust, can rely on. Numbers are factual, straightforward. They are consistent and do not lie. He finds comfort in them, comfort in how they grow.

Harry loses himself in them, calculating the amount to set aside for Mrs. Payne. In part because of his new investor, he should be able to give her a comfortable amount without damaging his own finances. Hampton will not suffer, and Harry will still have more than enough to insure that nothing like this ever happens again.

A gentle knock on the door pulls Harry from his thoughts. He calls for entry, and the door opens to reveal exactly who he requires.

“Mr. Tomlinson, good morning.”

It’s been almost two weeks since Harry has seen Mr. Tomlinson, and Harry forgets for a moment the seriousness of their situation, too stunned by the man in front of him. That is not to say Harry had forgotten how striking Mr. Tomlinson is during their time apart, but it is a powerful, fresh reminder that Harry had not imagined Mr. Tomlinson’s beauty.

However, Mr. Tomlinson gives Harry a sad smile, his eyes tired. He takes a seat across from Harry. “Mr. Styles, good morning. I am so sorry to hear about what happened yesterday.”

Harry’s stomach clenches, shutting his eyes for a moment before speaking. “Yes, it was truly horrific. I’d never seen anything like that before.”

Mr. Tomlinson nods. “I’ve witnessed injuries in mills before, but none so violent. None so disturbing. I cannot imagine what that must have been like to witness.”

Harry is quiet for a moment, considering his next words. “It was immobilizing,” Harry confesses. “To feel as if I could do nothing to help. To feel as if I could do nothing at all. To wonder how it could have been prevented. It is a terrible feeling.”

“Mr. Styles,” Mr. Tomlinson’s voice is soft, leaning forward in his chair. “You mustn’t blame yourself. What happened yesterday was a horrible accident, but it was exactly that – an accident. It was no one’s fault. Not yours, and not the young woman’s. I hope you know that.”

Harry quirks a brow. “I am surprised you would say that, Mr. Tomlinson. After everything you’ve told me about mill safety and the owners’ responsibility, I figured you would berate me from here to heaven about how much at fault I was.”

Mr. Tomlinson’s smile is sad. “I am not the cruel man you must think me who would do such a thing.”

Harry deflates, internally berating himself for lashing out at the man whose help he requires. “I apologize, Mr. Tomlinson. I am considerably upset from the incident yesterday, and that was unfair to you.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Tomlinson says. “But I hope you believe me. What happened was not your fault.”

Harry nods. “Thank you for saying that. How did you hear of the incident? Was it through my note?”

“Partially,” Mr. Tomlinson replies. “I was in my office, and my secretary brought me your note when it arrived. Before I had a chance to open it, she said that she’d heard the Hampton Mills workers had been sent home early because there was an accident at the mill.” Mr. Tomlinson pauses, glancing down. “I was very worried, Mr. Styles. I didn’t want anything to happen to your mill.” Mr. Tomlinson looks at him, blinking through his long, dark eyelashes. “I was worried something had happened to you,” he confesses in a quiet voice.

Harry’s lips part audibly in surprise. His heart twists funnily at the thought of Mr. Tomlinson worrying about him. Harry doesn’t respond, can’t respond, unsure of what to say.

“I am glad you’re alright,” Mr. Tomlinson continues, giving Harry a small smile. They stare at one another for a moment, air around them thick. Then Mr. Tomlinson looks away, saying hastily, “But of course, I am horrified for that young woman. What a terrible tragedy.”

“Yes,” Harry agrees, also coming out of his momentary stupor, lost in the mesmerizing blue of Mr. Tomlinson’s eyes. “It was a tragedy, and I want nothing like that to ever happen again. And that’s why I asked you here.”

Mr. Tomlinson’s lips quirk, understanding in his eyes. “Is it?”

“Yes,” Harry nods. “Ever since I took over Hampton Mills six years ago, I have wanted nothing more than to make it the greatest mill in Manchester. To make it the greatest mill it could possibly be. Until yesterday, I believed I had done that.” Harry sighs, shaking his head. “But I cannot ignore what happened yesterday. I cannot ignore that it may have been prevented.” Harry looks up, eyes locking with Mr. Tomlinson’s as he says, “Mr. Tomlinson, I ask for your help. I would like the MMIC to do an inspection of the mill. I would like you to tell me the ways I can create a safer workplace. I do not wish for yesterday’s accident ever to repeat itself.”

Mr. Tomlinson’s smile only grows as Harry speaks. But surprising to Harry, his smile is not one of smug satisfaction, but one of grateful relief.

“Mr. Styles, the MMIC would be honored to do an inspection of your mill,” Mr. Tomlinson replies. “We want so much to help, and to make the mills in Manchester a safer place. Simply by asking us for assistance, you’re already doing so much to help your workers.”

Harry nods. “That’s what I want.” Harry pauses. “Now, how will you go about this?”

Mr. Tomlinson chuckles. “There is a team of us at the MMIC who have worked at or studied the mills closely. There are six of us who will conduct the inspection. We would like to come on a day when the mill is operative, because many safety hazards are only apparent when the machines are working. We will not disrupt any work; we will not disturb your workers. To that, I give you my word. The MMIC’s mission is to help improve mills, not shut them down.”

“So your team will go through the mill, and then what?”

“We will conduct a report,” Mr. Tomlinson continues. “It will take several days, because my team will need to meet and discuss our findings, but we strive to return our reports within a week. I’ll deliver the report in person so that we can discuss it further. Then, it will be up to you what happens next. If you wish to disregard it, then that is your choice. If not, we will be happy to assist in whatever way we can in helping make Hampton Mills as safe a workplace as possible.”

“Excellent,” Harry replies. “That’s exactly what I was hoping for. But, I would actually like you to speak with several workers about the incident yesterday. I would like you to discern how the accident happened and what can be done to prevent it from happening again.”

Mr. Tomlinson nods. “We will do it.”

“Thank you,” Harry says, shoulders relaxing as he feels his guilt ease ever so slightly.

Mr. Tomlinson smiles. When he speaks, his tone is no longer formal, but kind and gentle. “Thank _you_ , Mr. Styles. I realize we didn’t get off to the friendliest start, and I was afraid my forwardness would prevent you from ever seeing the value in what the MMIC can do. I thank you for giving us a chance.”

Mr. Tomlinson’s words remind Harry of the frustration he felt at their first meeting, and Harry knows he must make himself very clear. “I don’t wish to be undermined,” Harry says slowly but confidently. “I wish for us to work together as a team, Mr. Tomlinson. I have asked for your help, and you are kind to do so. But this is not me giving you free reign over my mill. You will not make any changes without my approval, and you will not challenge me in front of my workers.”

Mr. Tomlinson nods slowly, considering. “Yes, Mr. Styles, I can agree to that. I wish for us to be a team as well.”

Harry smiles, relieved that those boundaries have been established. “I am glad, Mr. Tomlinson. Then a team we shall be.”

Mr. Tomlinson returns his smile, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. “Agreed.” He glances down at his lap for a moment, and when he looks up again, there is something akin to bravery in his eyes. “Then since we will be working together, I wish for you to call me Louis.”

Impossibly, Harry’s smile seems to grow. He knows his dimple must be carved deep into his cheek, but he cannot help express the genuine thrill he feels at those words. “Alright, Louis. Then please call me Harry.”

Louis huffs a gentle laugh, smile still on his lips. “Harry.”

Harry nods. “I am confident we will make an excellent team.”

“We shall be.” Louis’ eyes sparkle with mirth. “Should it be you or me who tells Mrs. Humphreys that we’ve finally formed a partnership?”

Harry barks a laugh which falls easily and abruptly from his lips. Louis laughs in response, eyes crinkled in delight. Harry remembers with amusement how he and Louis joked about the exact same thing at the dinner party. “I think we should share the task. Would hate for either of us to miss her reaction.” Louis nods, laughing, as Harry continues, “Should we neglect to mention that it’s a business partnership, not a romantic one?”

Louis laughs, posture relaxed. “No, no. I definitely think she needs to know that we’re in business together. She’ll be absolutely furious.”

“We’re picking out fire alarms instead of wedding flowers,” Harry laughs. “We should ask for her opinions on them, just to see what she says.”

“She’d probably knock us both over the head and refuse to let us leave her house until we became engaged.”

“Or better yet, she’d have us mate right in front of her.”

Louis cackles, laughter warm and light. He wipes at his eyes, and when he catches his breath, waves his hand lazily through the air. “We shouldn’t joke about such things,” Louis says, but the way he’s still breathless with laughter suggests he doesn’t really mean it. “She’s a sweet woman even if she is a meddling busybody.”

Harry makes a noncommittal noise, shrugging. “I suppose. Still, I don’t think it would matter how much she threatened to hold me hostage. I would never mate just to satisfy her need for gossip.”

As soon as Harry says it, he wishes he could take it back. It was all well and fine to joke about mating, but with those words, Harry has just shifted the conversation into a serious discussion. Especially considering his attraction to Louis, and his unbidden thoughts about the potential of Louis being _his_ , it is a conversation Harry knows would be better to avoid.

The atmosphere feels slightly charged in the room, Louis watching Harry carefully, gaze a bit heavy.

“And pray tell, Harry,” Louis says, voice slow and syrupy. Harry wonders absently if it’s intentional. “What would be a cause for you to mate?”

Harry shouldn’t answer. The question is inappropriate. It is improper to discuss mating with someone unless, well, they are considering mating one another.

That is not what this is.

Nevertheless, Harry finds himself answering, voice also slow and thick, “I would mate because I fell in love.”

“And you haven’t yet?” Louis asks.

Harry shakes his head.

Louis studies him for a moment, and then lets out an uneasy laugh. “I am surprised. With how many omegas Mrs. Humphreys has surely paired you with, I would imagine that you would be spoiled for choice.”

It’s a flimsy attempt to lighten the mood, but Harry ignores it, answering seriously, “I will not mate simply because she or society desires it. I will mate when the right person comes along. When I fall in love with them and they love me in return.”

Louis nods, motions slow. When he responds, his voice sounds slightly breathless. “I have no doubt you will find someone who you love and who loves you just as greatly.”

Harry gives Louis a small, genuine smile. “Thank you for saying that. I wish you the very same.”

Louis smiles, and for a moment, they just look at one another, lips upturned.

Harry eventually breaks their gaze, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it. “And besides, I don’t have time to worry about a mate right now. I have my mill to worry about, and she is a devilish enough mistress.”

Louis laughs, but it still sounds a bit far away.

“I am glad we have met,” Harry says, in an attempt to dispel the thickened atmosphere around them and bring them back to the topic of business while still keeping the conversation friendly. “Before yesterday, I was convinced that I didn’t need anyone to help me improve my mill. I was confident I could do it by myself.” Harry huffs a laugh. “Well, Louis, it looks like I need you after all.”

When Louis doesn’t reply, Harry glances up at him. The smile has disappeared from Louis’ face; instead, his lips are parted, expression relaxed as he stares at Harry.

Harry’s brow pinches, confused at the abrupt change in Louis’ reaction, when suddenly, it hits him.

The most lovely, intoxicating smell of flowers has suddenly filled the room. The smell is so thick and cloying, so sudden, that Harry imagines he can see a fog surrounding him, pushing into every corner of the room. His brain turns to white static, his heart begins pounding, and his mouth suddenly feels very wet. All he can smell is flowers, and Harry wants to drown in it.

Absently, he remembers when he was a child and went to London for the first time with his parents. They’d taken him and Gemma to Hyde Park on a lovely summer day, and Harry had loved the rose garden. He remembers how the pink, red, yellow, and white roses had blossomed bright and brilliant. How the vibrant petals had caught the weak London sun, glistening. But mostly he remembers how the smell of the roses had created a blanket through the garden. Lovely and floral, it had smelled just like summer. The freshly cut grass and the bees buzzing nearby, and most of all, the roses. The powerful, consuming smell of the roses.

Harry feels as if he is back in Hyde Park’s rose garden, not in his office at Hampton Mills in Manchester. He forgets himself, too wrapped up in the suddenness of the heavenly smell to wonder where it’s coming from, to wonder what’s happening.

He’s jarred abruptly from his thoughts by the sound of Louis’ gasp.

Harry’s eyes fly open; he hadn’t even realized he’d closed them as he lost himself in the smell.

Louis’ eyes are wide with fear. His mouth opens and closes several times as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Harry aches to reach across the table, to put a hand on Louis’ knee and still him. To calm him.

“Louis –” Harry begins, unsure of what he is even going to say.

“I must go,” Louis cuts in abruptly. “Forgive me, Mr. St – I mean, Harry.” He’s out of his chair in a moment, pulling on his coat and hat. “I must go.”

Louis stumbles to the door gracelessly before wrenching it open. He steps through, but throws a glance over his shoulder at Harry.

So quietly, Harry wonders if he imagined it, the smallest whine falls from Louis’ lips.

Then the door shuts firmly and he’s gone.

The sharp click of the door jars Harry from his stupor.

“What the hell just happened?” Harry asks aloud, rubbing a hand over his face. The smell isn’t nearly as strong anymore, just lingering faintly in the air. But still present, still strong enough that Harry’s body feels warm, his mind hazy.

Harry shifts in his seat, and suddenly freezes. He was so lost in the smell that he hadn’t noticed how heavy his cock had become. How full and aching.

With a jolt, Harry realizes what had happened.

Louis overpowered his suppressants. He had been wet.

Louis had been wet for Harry.

The smell was Louis.

That lovely, overpowering, mesmerizing smell that had captured Harry’s senses was Louis.


	2. Chapter Two

Harry has mountains of work on his desk – orders to be filled, new materials to be purchased, letters that require timely responses – but he has touched none of it since he arrived at Hampton Mills that morning.

Harry tries to sit at his desk, tries to focus on the reports before him, but he simply cannot.

Not when he knows that Louis and five other MMIC members are walking around his mill, inspecting it, examining it.

It’s been a week since Harry asked Louis to conduct his inspection, and Harry has thought of little else since then.

He goes back and forth on whether or not he is doing the right thing. Whether this will be a complete waste of his time and money. Harry has even got as far as to write a note telling Louis he’s changed his mind, but he couldn’t find it within himself to send it. He’d thrown it into the fireplace, allowing the paper to catch and burn and warm the space around him.

Harry knows having the MMIC come inspect his mill is a substantial decision, but he would be lying if he said that was the only thing occupying his mind.

Most of all, his mind has been fixated on their last encounter when somehow, inexplicably, Louis overpowered his suppressants and his intoxicating scent had filled the room.

Harry has never heard of anything like that happening before. In all his life, he has never witnessed anyone overpowering their suppressants. Not even omegas close to their heats or alphas nearing their ruts have that ability. The only time scent can overpower suppressants is during sex, when the hormones being released are too strong and too primal to be repressed.

But that hadn’t been what was about to happen at all. They had just been talking – discussing business, in fact – so Harry cannot understand how Louis could have possibly overpowered his suppressants.

Nevertheless, he has longed for that overpowering, delicious floral scent ever since.

It’s as if the scent seeped into his brain, claiming permanent residence in his head like a dense fog. Harry finds himself thinking of the scent constantly, and had even impulsively bought a freshly cut bouquet of flowers from the market in an attempt to recreate the smell.

But as nice as the flowers smelled, they were nothing in comparison to how Louis smelled on that morning in Harry’s office. He had told his servant to remove them only hours after they were bought, too desirous of the real smell to have a cheap, unsatisfactory impersonation.

Harry hasn’t seen Louis since that morning. Louis didn’t come back by the mill; instead, they corresponded through letters as they arranged a date for the MMIC to come to Hampton. Harry had wondered if Louis was avoiding him, maybe embarrassed by their last encounter. Their relationship, while starting out on uneven footing, had finally seemed to strike a balance. Harry fears that the accidental scenting will have ruined the beginnings of their friendship. The thought plagues him, but he knows that ultimately, if Louis doesn’t wish to see him, that is his prerogative.

When the MMIC arrived that morning, Louis had been with five other committee members, and Harry’s interactions with him had been strictly professional. Impersonal. Louis did not take Harry aside and mention anything about the accidental scenting, and Harry wasn’t sure why he expected Louis to, but he couldn’t help but feel confused nonetheless. Maybe it was because so little else had occupied Harry’s mind since he first smelled Louis, that he had believed it had also been as significant to Louis.

But Louis made no mention of it. Harry could almost believe he had imagined the whole thing if the smell of roses wasn’t still lingering in Harry’s mind.

Harry wanders to the window overlooking the spinning room. He tries to tell himself that he’s checking in on his workers, making sure no one is slacking in their work and that all the work is being done as efficiently as possible.

But Harry’s eyes don’t linger on the workers or machines as he scans the room for Louis and the MMIC.

They’re nowhere to be found.

With a huff of annoyance, Harry returns to his desk. The MMIC must be finished in the spinning room. They must have moved on to the warehouse or the carding room or some other part of the mill and notably out of Harry’s immediate sight.

He wonders what they’re finding. Wonders what has escaped his notice that the MMIC will undoubtedly find. He wonders if the mill is actually falling apart beneath his feet and the MMIC’s report will bring that to light.

Harry shuffles the papers on his desk, trying to focus on them and push the worrying thoughts from his mind.

It’s impossible to tell how much time has passed before there’s a gentle knock on the door.

Harry’s head snaps towards the sound, calling out in a rush, “Come in.”

Louis steps through the open door, giving Harry a tentative smile. Harry expects the other members of the MMIC to be right behind him, but he’s pleasantly surprised when Louis enters alone. Louis shuts the door quietly behind him before crossing the room to take a seat across from Harry’s desk.

“Well, Louis,” Harry says, leaning back in his chair in an attempt to feign an unaffected exterior. “I have given you and your team access to my mill. I’ve let you walk around and examine every machine and every wooden floorboard. I’ve granted you rights to my mill that I’ve never allowed anyone else. Now, what have you found?”

Louis nods, placing a tan folder on Harry’s desk. “First off,” Louis starts, pinning Harry with his bright blue gaze, “I want to thank you again for allowing us to come and look over your mill. Simply by doing so, you have made a statement to all the Manchester mill owners about the importance and value of workers’ health and safety.”

Harry nods slowly, not wanting to give anything away. “That is very kind of you to say.”

Louis holds his gaze for a beat before looking down at the folder, pulling out several sheets of paper. “The rest of the team is already back at our offices conducting the remainder of the report,” Louis leafs through the papers, seeming to refresh himself with what he wrote. “We will have a full plan to you by the end of the week, but I wanted to go over some of the main concerns with you beforehand. Just to give you an idea of what we were looking at.”

Harry nods, gesturing for Louis to continue.

Louis’ eyes flit down to the papers, scanning over his notes. “I was pleased to see that you’ve installed four new fire alarms throughout the mill.” He looks up at Harry. “Have you tested them yet?”

“No.”

“It would be advisable to run a test one morning or evening before your workers arrive just to make sure that the alarms work. Make sure they can be heard in parts of the mill that don’t have alarms. Also, it would be wise to inform your workers of what to do if the alarms were to go off, and to instruct your overlooker on how to turn them off and on, as well as what to do in case of a fire.”

Harry nods, scratching his chin.

“The MMIC can help lay out a fire safety plan,” Louis continues, flipping to a new page. “The most accessible routes out of the mill in case of a fire. A meeting point. The location of all the fire alarms, et cetera.” Louis looks up at him. “I know we spoke about fire safety during my last visit, and I want to make sure that we cover as many bases as possible. I can’t promise that Hampton Mills will never experience a fire, but I can promise that we will prepare it the best we can so that if such an unfortunate incident ever happens, no lives will be lost.”

“That is good,” Harry agrees. “But what about the mill? What could we do to insure the mill survives?”

Louis runs a hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp as he reads through the papers. “Having fire alarms in multiple parts of the mill is a good start. The earlier we’re alerted to a fire, the sooner the fire crew can arrive and put it out.”

“But the mill?” Harry questions, unsatisfied with Louis’ non-answer. “If the mill is to catch fire, how can it be saved?”

Louis sighs, looking up at Harry. “It is difficult, I will admit,” Louis begins slowly. “If the mill is to catch fire, there is not much that can be done to stop it from rapidly spreading. With so much cotton, so much flammable material, it is difficult. But,” Louis adds before Harry can cut him off, “by installing fire alarms, making sure all the flames are covered, and installing regulations to the use of open flames, we will be doing our utmost to stop a fire from ever happening. And simply by doing that, we will hopefully prevent a fire from ever befalling on Hampton Mills.”

Harry nods, considering. “Good. That is what I want.”

“Then that is what we shall do.”

Louis goes over several other brief points with Harry. He mentions the floors again, but also suggests fencing around the machines. It’s not something Harry has ever heard of being done in England before, but Louis assures him it is widespread in New York.

“Fencing around the machines can help prevent accidents like the one last week,” Louis says, his voice low and cautious. “It gives the workers enough room to complete their tasks, but helps keep them from getting too close to the more dangerous parts of the machine.”

“Why is it not more common in England?” Harry questions.

Louis shrugs, sighing. “Installation is difficult. Since the mills in England are older than the ones in New York, there isn’t always the space or resources to install them. The newer mills in New York installed them as they were building.”

“They must have been introduced before I owned Hampton,” Harry ponders.

“I think they were first introduced in New York about ten years ago. The first ones came to England a few years after, but as I said, they were not as popular.”

“My grandfather must have decided against them then. I wonder his reason,” Harry chuckles dryly, easily able to imagine the reason. “They were probably too expensive for him.”

Louis makes an understanding noise. “That is a concern of some mill owners, but I can assure you that they are much cheaper and more effective than other solutions. The way Hampton is built should allow enough space for fencing,” Louis says. “It is possible here, although some of the mules would need to be rearranged. But, it is possible.”

Harry nods. “When the MMIC brings me their final report, please include a plan for installing fences.” He pauses, unable to prevent the horrific images from the past week flashing through his mind. He wonders if the accident could have been prevented if his grandfather had installed the fences. “I do not wish for anything like that to ever happen again,” Harry says quietly.

Louis doesn’t respond for a moment, and Harry can’t help but look at him, a slight pleading in his eyes. Even though Louis has assured him that it’s not his fault, Harry can’t help but feel sickened with guilt, wondering how Mrs. Payne’s accident could have been prevented. Harry is employing the MMIC now to ensure any possible future accidents are prevented. And even though Louis’ done so before, Harry needs to hear Louis tell him that he’s doing the right thing.

Louis’ eyes are filled with compassion as he holds Harry’s gaze. But when he speaks, he doesn’t say what Harry hopes for. “Do you know how Mrs. Payne is doing?”

Harry’s guilt burns through him as he replies. “As well as can be expected, I believe. The two women who helped Mrs. Payne after the accident have visited her and told me that she hasn’t caught an infection.” Harry remembers the deep sadness in the women’s eyes as they told him about their visit. How Mrs. Payne was still in so much pain, unable to even find rest and comfort in sleep. “I plan to go there this evening to speak with her husband and offer my assistance.”

“Your assistance?” Louis asks.

Harry nods. “This is a horrible thing that happened, and I could have prevented it. I will offer Mrs. Payne and her family any help that I can.”

Louis is quiet for a moment, and when he speaks again, his voice is kind. “That is a wonderful thing for you to do, Harry. To care for your workers – that is something I have seldom seen between mill owners and workers.”

“They are people, too,” Harry responds. “Just because they work for me does not mean their concerns and fears and troubles are less real than mine are. I do not wish to add to their troubles.”

“May I come with you?”

Harry blinks. “What?”

“To Mrs. Payne’s,” Louis clarifies. “You are doing a noble thing by going there and offering your help, and I imagine that is also very difficult. I would like to go with you to support you, and also to offer my assistance to her family.”

“That is not necessary –” Harry attempts to dismiss, but Louis cuts him off.

“Please,” Louis’ tone is earnest. “I would really like to go.”

Harry knows he is powerless to say no. “As you wish, Louis.”

 

A perpetual dark cloud hangs over Manchester, the result of smoke and ash constantly being spit up into the sky. It is a sign of industry and progress, and Harry has always been proud of the numerous smokestacks rising above the Manchester skyline.

But as Harry and Louis navigate their way through narrow streets in a small neighborhood by the river, the black cloud doesn’t seem to be hanging in the sky but resting on the ground. The air is thick and smoky, as if the muddy roads cling to the dirty air, trapping it, refusing to let it escape upwards.

Harry has never had any reason to visit this part of Manchester before. His entire life he has lived centrally, green parks and open spaces always readily available to him. His family and colleagues all live central as well, houses built with white stone and streets lined with lampposts. It’s a whole other world from the filthy streets of the neighborhoods by the River Irwell.

However, Louis navigates the streets with ease, seemingly unbothered by the thick air or the crowded streets. He asks a woman sitting on the steps of her home, stitching a dress, if she knows of the Paynes. The woman eyes Harry’s and Louis’ upper class clothing suspiciously before telling them that their house is just around the corner.

Harry can’t help but feel hesitant as he and Louis approach the Paynes’ home. Although he sent a note the previous day saying he planned to call, he had received no response. He does not know how he will be received, despite his desire to help.

“Are you ready?” Louis asks, pausing in front of the door. A crooked number seven hangs above the knocker, nails rusted. This is the house.

Instead of responding, Harry takes a deep breath and raises his fist to knock firmly on the door.

The house is silent.

Harry strains his ear for any noise, wondering if maybe Mrs. Payne’s husband isn’t home from work yet. Maybe when he received Harry’s note he was so angered at the man responsible for his wife’s accident that he refused to welcome him. Harry would understand if that was the case.

Nevertheless, he is about to knock again when the door opens.

A woman with wispy grey hair peers out at them. Her cheeks are sunken and her eyes are sad, wrinkles folded into her skin. Confusion flashes through her eyes at the sight of Harry and Louis, and her voice is hesitant, unsure, as she asks, “May I help you?”

Harry smiles kindly, hoping to reassure the woman. “Hello. My name is Harry Styles and this is Louis Tomlinson. Is this Christine Payne’s residence?”

Panic seeps into the woman’s voice as she asks, “What do you want with Christine?”

“I’m from Hampton Mills,” Harry explains, keeping his voice gentle. Regardless, the woman’s eyes widen in horror. Harry is quick to reassure her, “We wanted to come by and check on Mrs. Payne.” The woman still looks uncertain, so Harry adds, “I was there last week. I saw what happened, and it was absolutely horrible. I’ve never experienced anything like that, and I just want to know how she’s doing.”

The woman studies them for another moment before she pushes the door open. “Come in. I’m Mrs. Wallace, Christine’s mother. Just be quiet; she’s resting.”

“Thank you,” Harry replies, stepping inside. Louis follows, both men removing their hats as they duck under the low doorframe.

As Mrs. Wallace closes the door behind them, the room is doused in shadowy darkness. Harry is reminded of when he was a child growing up in the countryside. His favorite place to hide was in the cellar, tucked in between the sacks of flour. Mrs. Payne’s house reminds him of the cellar – the space is cramped and dark, the floorboards unsteady beneath his feet.

A few candles flicker weakly throughout the room, a window open to allow in a bit more light. The entire house is one room, the kitchen blending into the bedroom.

There are two young girls no older than ten years old sitting at the kitchen table, eyes wide as they watch Harry and Louis. Harry smiles at them, but they look away, stringing green beans and throwing them into a pot.

In the corner of the house is a bed, pressed up against the wall. Harry takes a tentative step towards the bed, eyes wide as he takes in the sight of Mrs. Payne.

Mrs. Wallace said Mrs. Payne was asleep, but Harry almost doesn’t believe her. Mrs. Payne’s body is damp with sweat, hair darkened and messy. She moves fitfully against the bed, her breathing labored and shallow. Harry can’t help it as his eyes fall to her arm. The end of her arm is wrapped thickly with bandages, but thankfully the white material is not stained with red. He breathes a sigh of relief that the bleeding has been contained.

“She’s like this constantly,” Mrs. Wallace speaks up. “She is in constant pain when she’s awake. She can hardly sleep, and when she does, it is like this.” She gestures pitifully towards Mrs. Payne’s restless form.

“What does the doctor say?” Louis asks.

Mrs. Wallace sighs. “He’s only been by once since the accident. Gave her some medication for the pain, changed her bandages. Told Liam and me to keep her rested, keep her fed and give her lots of water. But that’s been about it.” Mrs. Wallace wipes at her eyes, sniffing. “I’ve been staying with her during the day while Liam’s working at the dockyards. Breaks a mother’s heart to see her girl in such pain as this.”

“How is Mr. Payne?” Harry asks, looking away from Mrs. Payne.

Mrs. Wallace shakes her head. “He’s broken up about it, as you’d expect. Just imagine him sitting here on just a normal day waiting for his wife to get home and all of a sudden she’s being brought in by a bunch of men and she’s –” Mrs. Wallace’s voice goes thick, wiping again at her eyes “– and her hand is just gone. And she’s bleeding everywhere and can’t even stay awake for no more than a couple of seconds. Scared him half to death.”

Harry nods, hardly able to imagine the heartbreaking horror of having a loved one brought home with a piece of their self missing.

“And the girls,” Mrs. Wallace continues, nodding towards the daughters on the other side of the room. She lowers her voice, leaning towards Harry and Louis. “They’re doing everything they can to help, but they’re just children. It scares them to see their mum like this. I hear them crying and asking Liam when mummy’s going to feel better and it just breaks my heart.”

Harry feels his heart breaking in kind, looking over at the two girls at the table. They’re both focused on their work, but cast the occasional worried glance to their nan and the two strange men in the house.

However, their attention abruptly shifts as the door opens and a muscular, bearded man comes through the door.

“Pa!” they both cry, jumping up from the table and rushing to his arms.

“There are my girls!” the man exclaims but his voice is tired as he crouches down to catch the girls in his arms. He presses kisses to their foreheads before his eyes fall to Harry and Louis.

A confused and slightly defensive expression crosses his face, and as he stands up, he holds both the girls’ hands. “Hello,” he begins tentatively. “May I help you?”

“Hello,” Harry takes a step forward, smiling kindly. “My name is Harry Styles, and this is Louis Tomlinson.”

“Harry Styles?” the man repeats, fear clouding his voice. “Of Hampton Mills?”

“Yes,” Harry confirms. “I was there last week when your wife was injured and I wanted to see how she’s doing. Are you her husband?”

“Yes,” the man takes off his hat, his hand falling back to his daughter. “I’m Liam Payne.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Payne. I’m so horribly sorry about what happened to your wife.”

Mr. Payne nods, but his eyes hold deep sadness. “Thank you, sir. It’s been terrible, I’ll be honest, but we’re doing the best we can.” He shuffles his shoes against the floorboards, the girls still clinging to him tightly.

“Would I be able to speak with you privately for a moment?” Harry asks, hoping his tone comes across as kind and helpful and not threatening.

Mr. Payne’s eyes widen anyways. He glances nervously towards Mrs. Wallace before looking back at Harry. He nods. “Girls, go outside. Take Nana.” The girls don’t protest, but they also eye Harry warily.

“I’ll come, too,” Louis speaks up. He crosses the room towards Mr. Payne, smiling at the girls kindly. “What are your names?” he asks, crouching down by them.

The girls look up tentatively at Mr. Payne, and he nudges them encouragingly. “It’s alright. Tell him,” he reassures them.

“I’m Annie,” the older one starts. “I’m nine.”

“You’re nine?” Louis repeats, voice fond. “My brother and sister are nine. Their names are Ernest and Doris.”

Annie smiles.

“I’m Victoria,” the younger one adds. “I’m six.”

“Wow, you’re so big for a six year old!” Louis exclaims, making Victoria smile shyly. “My brother and sister love singing songs. Do you girls like to sing songs?”

They nod slowly, and Louis smiles. “Let’s go outside and you can teach me your favorite, how about that?”

Annie and Victoria agree, and Mr. Payne smiles appreciatively at Louis. Nevertheless, the girls seem loath to leave Mr. Payne’s side, and it’s not until he gives them both another kiss on the forehead and reassurance that he’ll just be inside do they let go of his hands.

“Come along, girls,” Mrs. Wallace says, leading Annie and Victoria outside. Louis follows behind, throwing Harry an understanding look before shutting the door behind him.

Once they’re alone, Mr. Payne drags a hand through his hair. He seems unsure what to do, pivoting on his feet, hands in his pockets, before walking over to the bed.

“Annie and Victoria, they hate to leave me,” Mr. Payne says quietly. “Ever since the accident, they don’t want me to leave their sight.” Mr. Payne takes a cloth next to Mrs. Payne’s bed, dabbing at her sweat slick forehead. “I don’t blame them – I don’t want them to leave mine either.”

Harry doesn’t respond, watching as Mr. Payne gently cares for his wife.

“Did Mrs. Wallace say how she’s doing today?” Mr. Payne asks.

“She said she’s been resting,” Harry replies, matching Mr. Payne’s quiet tone.

“She sleeps so fitfully.” Mr. Payne smooths Mrs. Payne’s hair off her forehead. He withdraws his hand reluctantly, turning to Harry. His eyes are tired.

“Mrs. Wallace said the doctor has only been by once since the accident,” Harry comments.

Mr. Payne nods. “Thankfully she has not caught an infection, and the doctor has given her something for the pain, but it only dulls it. It doesn’t take it away completely.”

Simply by looking at Mrs. Payne, Harry can see that. Even though she is not moving as fitfully before, her expression is not one of peaceful sleep. Her face is contorted, lips turned down, as if she can’t escape her suffering even in her sleep.

“Mr. Payne,” Harry begins tentatively. “May I speak with you freely?

Mr. Payne nods in response, eyes still on his wife.

Harry fights the urge to twist his hands together nervously, but he doesn’t know what else to do with them. He clenches his top hat in his fist, fiddling with the rim. “Mr. Payne, what happened to Mrs. Payne is an indescribable tragedy. I am deeply, profoundly sorry for the role my mill played in the accident, and I would like to assure you that I am working diligently with the help of Mr. Tomlinson to make sure that nothing like that happens ever again.”

“That’s kind of you to say, Mr. Styles,” Mr. Payne responds. “But I don’t blame you for what happened to Christine.”

Harry’s brows rise in surprise. “You don’t?”

Mr. Payne shakes his head. “No. This is just our lot in life.” He laughs dryly, looking down at his wife. “We work day and night from the moment we are born. Usually the very work we do to survive is what kills us.”

Harry looks away, unsure of how to respond. “Nevertheless,” he says after a moment. “I would like to offer your family compensation.”

Mr. Payne slowly looks up at Harry, expression curious. “Compensation?”

“Yes,” Harry nods. “Since my mill was responsible for Mrs. Payne’s accident, I would like to pay recompense for the labor she is no longer able to do.”

Mr. Payne’s eyebrows knit together. “I appreciate that, Mr. Styles, but I must ask. You’re a wealthy, successful man, and we’re nothing but dirt underneath the shoes of people like you. Why on earth would you compensate us?”

“Because you’re people too,” Harry says firmly. “You’re people to whom an unspeakable tragedy has befallen, and I want to do what I can to make sure it doesn’t injure your family any worse than it has to.”

Mr. Payne studies him for a moment. “I want my Christine to have her hand back,” he says lowly, eyes flashing. “I want her pain to stop.”

“I’d like to cover the expense of a doctor, too,” Harry adds a bit desperately. “To make sure she continues to improve and to keep the pain at bay.”

Mr. Payne sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. His shoulders fold in on themselves, voice tired as he says, “I imagine you don’t know much about people like us, Mr. Styles. We work for people like you every day of our lives, but we don’t know anything about each other. But my people – we’ve got a lot of pride.” He looks towards Mrs. Payne, candle light flickering softly across her face. “And my pride wants to me to say no. No, I don’t want your money. I don’t want your assistance. I don’t blame you for what happened, but no. It’s the balance of the world that put you where you are and us where we are that allowed this to happen, but I don’t want your help.”

He sighs again, looking up at Harry. “But for my Christine, Mr. Styles, I say damn my pride. I want her to be well again. I want her to stop hurting. If you can help us, get a doctor here once a day. Then I will gladly accept your assistance. Not only that, but I will thank you kindly for it.”

Harry smiles in relief, relaxing his tight grip on his top hat. “Thank you, Mr. Payne. I will do what I can.” Mr. Payne nods. “But,” Harry continues, “I’d like to say: you and I may come from different parts of the social ladder; it’s true. But we are not so different. We are hard-working and proud of our work and would do anything for the people closest to us.”

Mr. Payne nods again, taking Harry’s hand in his and shaking it. “Thank you, Mr. Styles.”

Mr. Payne leads Harry outside, the fading evening light surprisingly bright after being inside the dark house for so long.

The sound of singing also fills the air, voices light and happy. Louis sits with Mrs. Wallace on the front steps while Annie and Victoria dance, kicking their feet in the air as they hold their skirts in their small hands. Louis laughs, clapping along as the girls sing.

They finish their dance with a flourish, Louis and Mrs. Wallace clapping happily. Mr. Payne joins in, catching his daughters in his arms and pressing kisses to their cheeks.

“You’ll do that dance for mummy when she wakes up, won’t you?” he tells them. “She’d absolutely love it.”

Annie and Victoria enthusiastically agree, kissing his cheek.

“Mr. Payne, thank you so much for letting us come by,” Harry says, shaking the man’s hand. “We’ll be in touch soon.”

“Thank you, Mr. Styles, Mr. Tomlinson,” Mr. Payne replies.

“Please feel free to stop by the MMIC offices if you need anything,” Louis adds, pulling a business card from his coat pocket and passing it to Mr. Payne.

Harry and Louis have barely made it a block away before Louis tugs on the sleeve of Harry’s jacket. Harry looks at him, and Louis nods towards a pub. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get a drink.”

Harry exhales in relief. A drink is exactly what he needs.

The pub is dark and crowded, all the workers finished with their days and finding relaxation in a pint of beer and lively conversation. Harry and Louis make their way to the bar, the bartender looking at them suspiciously. Harry supposes that is the only look he can receive in this part of town. He doesn’t belong here, and he feels it.

They order two whiskeys and take their drinks to a less crowded corner of the pub underneath a cracked window. Harry takes a gulp of his drink before he’s even sat down.

As Harry lowers his glass, he sees Louis watching him. “That was a really wonderful thing you did, Harry.”

Harry takes another drink of his whiskey, exhaling harshly at the bitter taste. “God, I hope so. I just,” Harry closes his eyes as he hears Mrs. Payne’s blood curdling screams fill his head, the horrific sound having followed him the past week as faithfully as a dog. “I just feel so fucking guilty. If I had done something differently, if I had been more mindful of my workers’ safety – this could have been prevented. A woman’s life wouldn’t have been permanently altered. A husband, daughters, and mother wouldn’t be fearful for her recovery.” He clenches his glass in his hand, fighting the urge to throw it across the room, to watch it shatter against the wall.

Harry is surprised when he feels Louis’ hand on his, touch tentative yet gentle. His hand is warm, and Harry feels his own pulse jump at the contact. It doesn’t settle as Harry looks up to see kindness and understanding in Louis’ eyes. His voice is soft yet determined when he speaks. “You can’t give Mrs. Payne her hand back, Harry. That’s true. But you can help take care of her family. You can help provide her with medical support. You can do those things, and you _are_ doing those things.” Louis huffs a laugh. “I wish you could see how remarkable that is. To show compassion to your workers – that is a rare thing in factories.”

Harry sighs, body feeling heavy. “I thought the mills in New York did everything better than the mills in England.” His joke falls flat, not even attempting to put humor in his voice. “I imagined that would extend to the way employers treat their workers.”

Louis shakes his head. “No, of course that’s not the case. This business – it’s cutthroat. A person has to have determination and drive to succeed with the mills. And often in that case, compassion is left far behind.” Louis swirls his drink idly in his hand. “Some people don’t care who they step on as long as they make it on top.”

Harry thinks of Mr. Payne’s words, how workers are dirt under the shoes of people like Harry. He flinches, taking another sip of his whiskey.

“But that’s not you, Harry,” Louis continues, fixing Harry with an earnest look and giving Harry’s hand a firm squeeze. “You care about people, simply because they’re people. Whether they work at the mills or have never worked a day in their life, you treat them fairly and with compassion.”

Harry feels his cheeks flame under the praise. He is used to having his mill praised, of course. His business acumen is lauded often. But his character? It is seldom noticed.

“You’re working to improve your mill, and that is also a wonderful thing,” Louis continues, hand still resting on Harry’s, oddly grounding him. “The accident happened, and it was horrible, but you aren’t insisting that there’s nothing you can do about it. You are doing something about it, and that alone shows how much you care about your workers.”

Louis squeezes Harry’s hand softly, and then pulls it away, taking his whiskey glass in hand. Harry can’t help but notice a slight tremor in Louis’ hand as he raises the glass to his lips. Absently, Harry wonders what it means. If Louis could possibly feel as affected by their touch as Harry does.

When Louis places his glass back on the table, he sighs. “May I tell you a story, Harry?”

Harry nods, undeniably calmed by the sound of Louis’ voice and wishing very much for him to continue speaking, regardless of what he says.

Louis takes another sip of his drink, eyes closing for a moment. Harry watches the delicate flutter of his eyelashes against his cheekbones. Harry feels a mirrored fluttering in his own stomach before Louis begins. “When I first arrived in New York, the mill I worked with first was owned by a friend of my father’s. His name was Jeremiah Stapleton and he’d gone to Cambridge with my father. I remember him as a child before he moved to New York to start his mill. My siblings and I called him Uncle Jerry because he always brought us gifts, always sang songs with us.” Louis smiles fondly. “We adored him.

“When I decided I wanted to study the mills in New York, my father was the one who suggested I start with Jeremiah’s mill. My father knew that he’d be happy to take me in, happy to teach me everything he knew. I was really glad that my father suggested that, because I didn’t know anyone else in America. Moving across the ocean became a lot less daunting since I was joining a friend.

“When I arrived, I moved into a house down the street from his. I would have dinner with Jeremiah and his wife and their four children who were the sweetest children I’ve ever met. Even though I was in a new country and everything felt so strange, being around Jeremiah reminded me of being a child again.”

Louis pauses, sipping at his drink. A small smile is on his lips as he remembers, but Harry can see a hint of sadness in his eyes.

“I started working with him at the mill, and one of my first responsibilities was working at a mule.” Harry’s eyebrows lift in surprise, and Louis smiles. “Yes, I wanted to understand all aspects of the job, not just the management. Anyways, I soon befriended the worker at the mule next to mine. Her name was Lilah Davenport, and we became inseparable. She was an Irish immigrant and would have me laughing for hours with story after story of growing up in Galway.

“Lilah was married to a really lovely omega named Alice, and I spent many evenings at their house, having dinner and singing songs and telling stories. Jeremiah wasn’t thrilled that I was spending my time after work with people ‘beneath me’.” Louis rolls his eyes. “His words not mine. But since I’d started working with him, I’d begun to be disenchanted by him. I began to notice things about him that would never occur to me as a child. He was rude to anyone he believed himself to be better than. He criticized his children and wife constantly, despite the fact that they never showed him anything but affection. He was a traditionalist, and didn’t agree with my progressive ways. He only wanted me to learn the management aspects of a mill, not the work.

“About six months after I started at the mill, Alice fell horribly ill with pneumonia. Lilah cared for her the best she could while still working, sometimes even taking up extra shifts to make up for the income they were losing while Alice couldn’t work.”

Louis’ voice catches, and he looks down at the table, blinking rapidly. “Alice died. I was in Connecticut at the time, traveling. If I could have been there – I would have helped if I could. But I had no idea. Alice died and Lilah fell sick with pneumonia, too. She was too weak to write, too sick to come to work.

“When I returned to New York, I was surprised when Lilah wasn’t at the mill. I asked Jeremiah about it, and he said Lilah had missed a whole week of work, so she’d been fired.” Louis takes a shuddering breath, and Harry feels his heart clench at Louis’ visible heartbreak. “When I found out what happened, I tried to reason with Jeremiah. I tried to explain that Lilah had fallen ill while caring for her now-deceased wife, but he would show no compassion. She hadn’t shown up for work, and she hadn’t sent a replacement, and to Jeremiah, that was that. To him, nothing could justify her not showing up for work.

“Not long after Lilah was well again, she left New York for California. She didn’t want to stay in the city that she’d lived in with her wife, and she had distant family in San Francisco that she could stay with. I was devastated that she decided to leave, devastated that she felt like that was her only choice when she was fired.”

Louis looks up at Harry, blue eyes swimming with unshed tears. “Lilah died on the journey west. She had a relapse on the trail and no one was able to help her.” Louis’ voice catches, and he takes several shaky breaths before continuing. “And I felt so much second-hand guilt, so much shame, because I thought maybe if I had worked harder to convince Jeremiah to give Lilah her job back, or if I’d fought harder for her to stay in New York, maybe she’d still be living.”

Louis takes a deep, shuddering breath, and his voice is firm as he says, “Jeremiah felt no remorse, Harry. None whatsoever. He believed he did the right thing because he upheld his business principles over the wellbeing of one of his workers. He was unwilling to compromise, unwilling to understand her situation and show her mercy and compassion. I left his mill shortly thereafter, and went to the mill of a friend I’d made during my time in the city. I couldn’t work for someone so devoid of empathy, of understanding.

“That’s not you, Harry. Something horrible happened in your mill to one of your workers. Instead of blaming Mrs. Payne and excusing yourself, you are finding ways to prevent it from ever happening again. You are installing new safety regulations in your mill. You are helping the Payne family. You are doing what you can, and Harry, you are making things right. You are showing compassion and humility, and you are doing what is right. And that, that is remarkable.”

As Louis’ story comes to a close, the air around them feels thick. Thick with vulnerability, thick with honesty. Thick with potential. Louis holds Harry’s gaze, his eyes open and earnest. Harry’s hand twitches on the table, and he feels the urge to take Louis’ hand in his, just as Louis did with him moments before. Harry wonders if it would comfort Louis, just as Louis’ touch had comforted him. Nevertheless, Harry keeps his hand on the table.

Harry has heard stories before about workers being fired when they didn’t show up for work. That’s not an uncommon occurrence. But he has always heard them from fellow mill owners as they sat around puffing their cigars and complaining about the lack of good workers in the city. Harry has had to fire workers before as well, sometimes for smoking on site and sometimes for laziness, but he has never heard such a story from the opposing perspective.

The impossible situation of trying to care for one’s sick wife while still working so that they could have enough to eat. Of losing one’s wife and not even having time to mourn before falling ill as well. Of losing one’s job because of that illness. Of feeling trapped and hopeless, and unable to be heard or understood by one’s employer.

Harry has seen such disinterested cruelty firsthand from mill owners. And while he has had reason to doubt himself this past week, Louis is right. That’s not him. He makes the hard decisions that are in the best interest of his mill, but not at the expense of his workers’ lives.

“Thank you for telling me that,” Harry says softly, the atmosphere around them feeling fragile. “I’m very sorry for what happened to Lilah.”

“Thank you,” Louis nods. “It was many years ago now, but I do miss her still.”

“I imagine she would be proud of the work you’re doing. Proud to see you standing up for workers like her and their rights.”

Louis grins, a small laugh falling from his lips. “She’d be so excited that I’m working with one of the most powerful men in Manchester. She’d be excited to see the changes that are coming.”

Unwillingly, Harry’s mind flashes to memories of his grandfather. How hardworking and determined he was, but how traditionalist and steadfast as well. Harry can’t help but think how furious his grandfather would be for spending money on safety regulations. For spending money that will bring no profit.

But Harry shakes those thoughts from his head, lifting his glass instead. “Louis,” Harry says. Louis follows his movement, smiling as he raises his glass. “We make an unlikely team, but I think we’re standing on the verge of something truly revolutionary. Together, we will set a new precedent for mills. We will create a safer mill and protect my workers. Together, we will make something truly remarkable.”

Louis’ smile is bright, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Here, here!” he cheers.

They clink their glasses and throw back the remainder of their whiskey.

 

A six month plan. That’s what the MMIC proposes.

The report hadn’t been as abysmal as Harry expected. The flaws the MMIC had discovered were not as devastating or revealing as Harry feared.

Instead, many of them are simply extra precautions. Fire drills. Fences around the machines. Clean floors. Better sanitation. Great wheels in the spinning room.

When Louis delivers the report, he assures Harry that Hampton Mills is actually in excellent condition compared to some of the other mills in Manchester and even some in New York. The measures the MMIC propose are an extra layer of security, to prevent devastation in the case of fire. To prevent incidents like what happened to Christine Payne from ever occurring again.

Louis and several other MMIC members spoke with some of the women working by Mrs. Payne’s mule on the day of the accident. One woman says she saw Mrs. Payne fall, but is unsure of what caused it. Maybe she simply lost her balance. Maybe it was because of the slick floors. When Mrs. Payne is well enough, Louis expresses to Harry his intentions to hear her side of the story. Harry agrees.

To fulfill their plan, the MMIC arranges to come to Hampton three times a week to work. Any work that they need to do that would disrupt the regular day’s work will be done in the evening.

By the time the MMIC completes their plan, Hampton Mills will be safer and it will be more successful.

So the work begins.

 

The mill is alive with activity.

Six months ago, Harry traveled to London, and the mill on the MMIC’s first day reminds him of the controlled chaos of Manchester’s London Road Station. Hordes of people had been everywhere, some walking with determined purpose, some running in a frantic dash to catch their train, and some walking in confused circles, trying to make sense of the platforms. Inside the station had been disorganized madness, but full of energy and excitement. The trains, on the other hand, were anything but disorganized. They left their platforms promptly with the clear sound of a whistle, black smoke pluming into the air as the wheels begun to spin.

With the MMIC mixing with the mill’s usual busyness, Harry thinks Hampton Mills is like London Road Station.

The MMIC constantly bustles in and out throughout the day, figuring out the practicalities of their plan before implementation begins. They walk around the mill, examining different areas and taking measurements. Someone is always coming or going, their work seemingly endless. They work in what seems to Harry to be an unorganized mess of movement and purpose.

But the mules still run as they always have.

Louis was correct. The MMIC’s work does not interfere with the mill’s daily output. The workers, although curious at the extra activity, continue to do their work as they have always done. As well, a new worker is brought in to work at the empty mule.

Harry can’t help but notice, however, that even though the MMIC doesn’t interfere with the work being done, Louis often interacts with the workers. He spends time with them during their lunch breaks, talking and laughing with them. Harry eats in his office, not bothering with the workers’ dining hall, but he can’t help feel a twinge of annoyance that Louis seems to be befriending the workers.

Regardless, Harry pushes aside any strange feelings of jealousy and resolves that as long as everyone still finishes their work as they’re supposed to, he can’t object.

At the end of each day, Louis stops by Harry’s office and gives a report. The MMIC has only been at Hampton for a couple weeks, but Louis tells of the initial progress, his reports positive and hopeful. Harry listens attentively, and Louis is sure to be thorough and include every detail of what was done that day. One night, their conversation shifts from the work at the mill to stories from Louis’ time in New York. Neither mentions that they leave the mill long after everyone else that night.

It’s the Friday evening of the MMIC’s third week at Hampton, and Harry is lingering in his office. He’s finished his work for the day, and the majority of the workers have left, but Louis hasn’t been by yet.

Harry refuses to admit that that’s why he hasn’t left work. He’s sure it’s because his books need to be reviewed for the fourth time that day.

The numbers are beginning to blur in front of his eyes when a gentle knock on the door pulls him from his thoughts. “Come in,” he calls, sitting up straight and blinking away the blurriness in his eyes.

Louis pushes the door open, and Harry can’t help the smile that forms on his lips.

“Good evening, Louis,” Harry greets.

“Good evening,” Louis replies, smiling in return. He sits opposite Harry’s desk, placing a folder in his lap.

“What did you find today?” Harry asks, leaning his elbows against his desk.

“We had some questions about your pipes,” Louis says instead, which Harry supposes in a way is an answer to his question. “Do you have the original blueprints of the mill?”

Harry nods. It’s been a while since he’s had reason to look over the original blueprints, but his meticulous organization of his office means they are easily found in a file on the bookshelf.

“Here you are,” Harry says, passing them to Louis.

“Thank you,” Louis says, his eyes already scanning the information in front of him, clearly searching for something specific. “A-ha!” he exclaims after a moment, lips quirking into a smile.

“What?” Harry asks, leaning forward in his chair to try to see whatever Louis is looking at.

Louis lays the blueprints out on the desk, pointing at the spinning room. “We were trying to figure out the layout of the pipes to come up with the best way to minimalize damp floors.” Louis traces a line along the edge of the room, his finger dragging across the paper. “The pipes go along the edges of the room, and none join in at the center. So the edges of the room drain out into the pipes, but the rest of the room, since it’s on the same elevation, has no access to the pipes, so they don’t drain as easily.”

Harry studies the blueprints with a furrow in his brow, seeing that Louis is correct.

“When was the mill built?” Louis asks. “More modern mills would have their pipes centralized. But this was how they were designed in the 1840s.”

Harry nods. “My grandfather built the mill in 1842.”

“That makes sense,” Louis continues. “The mill is much more spacious than the mills that have been built in the past ten years. Building the largest and most imposing mills was definitely the trend of the first half of the nineteenth century. Nowadays, mill owners are taking up as little space as possible.”

Harry opens his mouth to respond, sure that Louis is disapproving in some way, but Louis cuts him off before he has a chance.

“Don’t be offended, Harry,” Louis says, lips quirking into a smile and eyes flashing with mirth. “The spacious mills are actually better for workers’ health, because they are not as cramped.”

“Oh,” is Harry’s eloquent response.

A delighted laugh slips from Louis’ lips, the back of his hand coming up to cover his mouth. “You really thought I was reprimanding you, didn’t you?” Louis giggles, eyes crinkling happily. “You were about to argue with me, weren’t you?”

“No, I wasn’t,” Harry lies, his own smiling lips betraying him.

“Yes, you were!” Louis returns, laughter shaking his voice. “You had that pinched lemon expression on your face that you had the whole of the dinner party at the Humphreys’.”

Harry scoffs. “I don’t have a pinched lemon expression.”

“Yes, you do,” Louis says with a casual wave of his hand. “But don’t worry, when I see that look I know I’m about to win my argument.”

Harry can’t help the laugh that falls from his lips in response, amused by Louis’ good humor.

“You don’t win all of them,” Harry faux-grumbles.

When he looks up at Louis, Harry feels a swell of warmth in his chest to see Louis smiling delightedly, his eyes crinkled in pleasure. “Yes, I do,” Louis contradicts, smug satisfaction in his voice.

Harry’s lips twitch. “Maybe on occasion,” he acquiesces.

Louis lets out a triumphant laugh, and Harry snorts, rolling his eyes good naturedly.

“Anyways, back to the mill,” Harry leads heavily, clearly trying to draw attention away from Louis’ teasing.

However, Louis seems confused for a moment by Harry’s prompting, brow scrunching together. When Harry gestures towards the folder Louis placed on the desk, Louis exclaims, “Oh, yes,” before hastily returning to his report.

They discuss the work Louis had done that day, and Harry feels satisfied with the progress the MMIC is making, even within their first few weeks.

However, Louis’ questions repeatedly come back to the structure of the mill and its groundwork. Louis seems fascinated by the construction of the mill, very knowledgeable about the building trends of the past few decades. Harry listens with rapt attention as Louis discusses the mills, always eager to learn about his trade and its history.

“So your grandfather built this mill in 1842?” Louis asks.

“Yes,” Harry confirms.

“When did you take it over from him?”

“It became mine in 1879 at his death,” Harry answers. “I’ve had Hampton for six years now.”

“I imagine he'd be very proud to see what you have done with the mill.”

Harry snorts. “Honestly, he'd be horrified to know I was spending money to make Hampton safer.”

“Why is that?” Louis asks. 

Harry laughs dryly. “Why do you think we have a lack of fire alarms and no fences around the machines to begin with?” He raises his eyebrows at Louis and then answers his own question. “Because when he built the mill, he only had a little bit of money. He did it as cheaply as he could, just to get it up and running. And once the mill became successful, he had no reason to change his cheap practices because the mill was already doing so well.”

Louis nods. “That makes sense. Regardless, I think he'd be proud.” When Harry makes an unconvinced noise, Louis continues. “I didn't know him, but in the long run what you're doing will make Hampton even greater. Surely he would be pleased to know that.”

Harry feels his lips quirk. “I hope so. Nobody could ever love Hampton the way he did, but it's a part of me too and I only want to see it grow.”

“Yes, of course,” Louis agrees. “No one would doubt your commitment to your work.”

Harry's upturned lips grow into a full smile. He looks around the room, feeling fondness for the floor beneath his feet, the roof over his head. “No,” he agrees. “Hampton has always been my home. I came here all the time as a child.”

Louis laughs lightly. “No wonder Hampton is in your blood.”

Harry nods, memories of days spent hiding under the very desk where he now sits flooding his mind. “Sometimes, I think this mill raised me more than my parents ever did.”

Louis' eyebrows knit together, a clear indication for Harry to continue.

With a small sigh, Harry lets his mind drift back to his childhood. “When Grandfather built Hampton, his intention was always for my father to someday take over, and then his son, and his son's son, and so on. My grandfather taught my father everything about the mill from the time he was born. And the plan was that when he had a son, my father would teach him everything he knew.”

Harry sighs. He can't remember the last time he talked about this, and the anger in his chest leaves a dull yet familiar ache. “My father died before my first birthday. A hunting accident. It broke my mother's heart, and my grandfather's, although he would never admit it. But it triggered something in him, and so with me, it was suddenly as if everything he had ever worked for, all his hopes for the future, were resting on my shoulders.”

“I'm so sorry, Harry,” Louis says quietly. His eyes are full of pain, but not of pity. “I can't even imagine what that must've been like to have so much put on you from such a young age.”

Harry huffs a dry, self-deprecating laugh. “I didn't even realize until I was older that the amount of expectation being put on me was unhealthy and unrealistic. But it was. My grandfather doubled the efforts he put towards my father. I have so few memories of going to school, because my schooling was here. When I learned arithmetic, my grandfather made sure that I knew I was learning it so that I would be able to do the accounts book. My education was never for me to grow as a person, because everything was always about the mill. And that's how it's always been.”

Louis is quiet for a moment, processing Harry's story. Harry feels a moment of panic of having opened up to Louis in such a way, of telling him something so vulnerable and personal. But when Louis looks at him again, his eyes shine with compassion. “What about your mother?” he asks. “What did she think of how your grandfather treated you?”

“It was hard for her,” Harry admits. “She'd already lost her husband and her son was being groomed for one specific purpose. But if I did as my grandfather wished and took over the mill, I would give my family security. I would be able to provide for my mother; I would be able to help my sister. And I wanted to give them that...and I have.”

“That's incredible, Harry,” Louis says softly.

Harry can't help as his lips twitch into a small smile. “Yes. I will admit that it was a very proud day for me when I was able to buy my mother a house in Cheshire. She never liked Manchester; she always preferred the countryside. Everything I've done with the mill, I'm incredibly proud of it. But I think my greatest accomplishment so far has been being able to give back to my mother in such a way.”

Louis smiles in return. “I understand that. My mother – I wish I could give her everything I have to thank her for everything she's done for me.”

“Are you close to her?” Harry asks, unsure if Louis has ever mentioned her before.

Nevertheless, Louis nods enthusiastically. "She's my dearest friend. Honestly, I missed her so much when I was in New York. That was the hardest part about living in America." He laughs softly. “She lives in Doncaster and the past few weeks I've been moaning to myself about how far Doncaster is from Manchester.” He rolls his eyes as he grins. “Less than a day's ride from here, only a couple hours on a train. A year ago, when she was an ocean away, I would have given anything to have her so close.”

Harry joins him as he laughs. “It's true that a person doesn't appreciate what they have until it's taken away from them.”

Louis nods, expression contemplative. He considers his next words carefully before he slowly asks, “Do you miss your grandfather?”

Harry considers. “My grandfather was a strict man,” he tells Louis. “He was overbearing and controlling. From what my mother has told me, he was never really present in my father's life. Well, not as a father. He was present as a businessman. Preparing my father for the future that awaited him.”

“How about in your life?” Louis prompts gently.

“The same,” Harry answers truthfully. “I feared him as a child. As an adult I grew to respect him, but I never necessarily liked him. He taught me everything he knew, and when I turned eighteen, I began working with him as an equal. He was never really a grandfather to me – he was more a business partner.”

Harry thinks back to many long days sitting in this office, his grandfather instructing him on the best ways to do his job. Harry has come to realize that that meant the best way for them, not necessarily the best way for anyone else.

“He's been gone for six years,” Harry muses, “but I do miss him. I find myself wishing I could ask his opinion about business decisions, even if I know he wouldn't agree with them.” Louis huffs a quiet laugh, and Harry can't help but smile knowing how much his grandfather would disapprove of him having a unionist in the mill, let alone working alongside one. “And I miss the fact that he was never really a grandfather to me. I miss that for him and for me, that we were never able to have that in our relationship.”

Louis nods. “That's wonderful that he wanted to give you Hampton, to give you such incredible security, but it's a shame that your relationship with him had to suffer as a result.” He gives Harry an empathetic smile. “I know what that's like, to some extent.”

“You do?” Harry asks.

Louis clears his throat as he nods. “I do. My father was always gone to London while I was growing up. And when he was home, he just wanted to talk to me about politics. To make sure I understood that I would someday take over his place in Parliament. Even now, he's only really interested in my life in regards to my political work. When I was living in New York, he wanted to know how it was shaping my views and my activism, not how the experience changed me as a person.”

“Yes, exactly,” Harry agrees. “It's as if your worth begins and ends at what you can bring to your profession.”

Louis huffs a self-deprecating laugh. “If this is what the father figures in our life think of us, I consider us both lucky that we're standing on our own two feet in this world.”

They share a quiet laugh, and Harry feels a tug in his chest towards Louis. Sharing misfortunes undeniably bonds two people together, and Harry can’t help but feel he understands Louis a little bit better. Harry wants to know him even more.

“Can I ask you something, Louis?” Harry asks tentatively.

Louis hums his agreement.

“Since you have such a clear path in politics laid out for you, and a position in the House of Lords secured, why are you so keen on improving mills?”

As soon as the words leave Harry’s mouth, the atmosphere in the room shifts. No longer is the mood in the room light and humorous, but it becomes weighted and expectant.

Louis doesn’t answer him, and his eyes are downcast so that Harry can’t see his expression. Harry panics, immediately feeling guilt rise up in his chest at asking what clearly is too probing and personal of a question. But just as Harry is about to retract his words, Louis looks up at him, and his eyes show a tiredness and truthfulness that Harry has never seen before.

“I care about the mills and their workers because I grew up in one,” Louis answers quietly but unashamedly.

Harry’s lips audibly part in surprise. Whatever he was expecting – it wasn’t that.

A million questions flood Harry’s mind. He wants to know why and how. How is that even possible when Louis comes from such a powerful, influential family? How could he grow up amongst the poorest of the poor?

But before Harry can even begin to ask these questions, Louis changes the subject, clearly unwilling to further that line of conversation.

“I’m having a luncheon on Sunday afternoon,” Louis tells him, only a slight strain of unease in his voice. “I would be very pleased if you could attend.”

Harry studies Louis for a second, and Louis matches his gaze. In Louis’ eyes, Harry doesn’t see fear or shame, but resolve. Even though Louis answered Harry’s probing question, it is obvious Louis wishes to discuss it no further. Tampering his curiosity to the best of his ability, Harry follows his lead.

“Yes, a luncheon on Sunday sounds wonderful.”

Louis’ firm expression falls away, a small, genuine smile appearing on his lips. “Splendid. I have some friends whose acquaintance I would love for you to make.”

“I look forward to it,” Harry answers truthfully.

 

As Harry stands outside of Louis’ five story townhouse, he feels small.

To all of Manchester, Harry is a giant. He is an alpha, one of the most successful men in all of the city, and a savvy businessman. When he walks down the street, people watch him with awe. Everyone knows his name and knows that wherever he is going, it is somewhere important.

But standing outside of Louis’ house, Harry feels like a child again.

He feels unsure about what is before him, his stomach churning with nerves at the possibility. The possibility of spending more time with Louis, whose company and presence he constantly craves, even if he is loath to admit it to himself.

Louis confuses him. How his words can be as sharp as a butcher’s blade one moment, and then as soft and comforting as Hampton Mills’ finest cotton the next makes Harry’s head spin.

But Harry Styles is not a coward. Despite the feelings of apprehension ricocheting through his body, he is not a coward.

Harry ignores the slight shake in his hands as he knocks on the front door.

He only has to wait a moment, but Harry releases a small huff of surprise when it’s not the butler who opens the door, but Louis.

“Harry!” Louis exclaims, eyes crinkling in delight. “I’m so thrilled you could make it. Come in, come in.”

Harry steps inside, and Louis leads him down the hall. The lighting is soft, and Harry feels a bit of his unease melt away. Unlike most upper class homes, Louis’ home doesn’t feel like a pristine museum – bright and polished and not lived in at all.

In the entryway, there are flowers on a mahogany table, filling the space with life and color. Paintings of colorful landscapes line the walls, reminding Harry of his visits to his mother in Cheshire.

“You have a beautiful home,” Harry says softly to Louis as he admires a painting of a town.

“Thank you,” Louis replies, coming to Harry’s side. “This is my childhood home, Doncaster,” Louis explains, arm brushing lightly against Harry’s. He points to the left side of the painting. “That’s St. George’s Minster, one of the most beautiful buildings in the town.” Harry admires the dark spires rising into the painting’s hazy blue sky. “I’m actually older than the church,” Louis chuckles. “I was born in 1854, but the church wasn’t consecrated until 1858. I had to be taken to Sheffield to be baptized, but all of my siblings were baptized in Doncaster.” Louis’ finger drifts down to the base of the city. “The River Don runs near the church, and my mother would take us on picnics along the banks when we were growing up.”

“It looks like a beautiful place,” Harry says. “You must miss it.”

Louis nods, gaze still lingering on the painting. “I do,” Louis admits, tone nostalgic. “But having this painting here, it makes home feel a little closer.”

Harry smiles at Louis’ fond tone. Louis’ gaze breaks from the painting, and he leads Harry into the empty sitting room.

“I thought you said others would be joining us?” Harry inquires as he takes a seat on the sofa.

“They will be along shortly,” Louis replies. He sits down across from Harry, hands clasped together in his lap. “Actually, I wanted to ask you something before they arrived.”

“Yes?” Harry responds, his voice only shaking slightly with excitement and curiosity.

“I apologize for the short notice, but I only recently found out I was permitted to invite guests.” When Louis looks up at Harry, he looks determined. “This coming Saturday, my aunt Agatha is hosting a dance at her manor just outside of Manchester. Well, she’s not really my aunt; she’s a distant cousin of my father’s, but they were practically raised together, so we’ve always called her our aunt.” Louis huffs a nervous laugh at his rambling. “But anyways, she has a beautiful estate and wanted to celebrate the May Day. As family, I am expected to attend, but fortunately my aunt gave me permission to invite some of my own guests who would make the evening more bearable.”

Harry chuckles, Louis also laughing softly.

“You make it sound like a horrible burden,” Harry teases.

Louis grins. “I suppose I shouldn’t call an evening unbearable while trying to convince someone to join me, should I?”

“Not its best selling point.”

“True,” Louis agrees. “Well how about this, then? The garden will be in bloom, and a room can be provided for you if you don’t wish to make such a long journey after the dance. I can promise good music and good drinks, and if you stick with me, good company.”

Harry smiles. “Yes, definitely start with those selling points next time.”

Louis laughs, shrugging in resigned agreement.

“Thank you for thinking to invite me,” Harry responds, “and despite your lackluster enthusiasm about the event, I would be delighted to accompany you.”

Louis beams, hands clapping together in happiness. “That’s wonderful, Harry. Thank you so much.”

“My pleasure,” Harry says, and he finds that he means it.

The moment is broken by the sound of a hesitant knock on the front door.

“Another guest!” Louis exclaims, jumping up and spinning towards the door. “Harry, if you’ll excuse me…”

He doesn’t wait for Harry’s response before he’s hurrying out of the sitting room and down the hallway. Harry feels a small return of nerves, hands twisting together anxiously.

Harry hears the door open, followed by muffled, cheerful greetings. He only has a moment to contemplate who Louis’ guests may be when they return to the sitting room and Harry feels his apprehension return with force.

“Harry Styles,” Louis introduces, “this is Niall Horan, a worker at Hampton Mills.”

Of course Harry recognizes him as one of the men that Louis had befriended at Hampton. Harry hastily stands up, offering his hand to the man who eyes Harry uneasily.

“Mr. Horan, hello,” Harry says. “How nice to make your formal acquaintance.”

“Call me Niall,” he replies, Irish accent thick as he accepts Harry’s handshake.

“And this is his wife, Claire,” Louis continues, gesturing towards a petite woman standing behind Niall. “And their children: Albert and Grace.”

“Hello,” Harry greets them, feeling slightly uncomfortable as Mrs. Horan and her children watch Harry with wide eyes. “Nice to meet you all.”

“You as well, Mr. Styles,” Mrs. Horan returns, bobbing a quick curtsy.

Louis claps Niall on the shoulder, and when Niall looks at Louis, his expression contains none of the discomfort it had held when Niall looked at Harry.

“Niall has been very helpful to me these past few weeks,” Louis explains to Harry. “He’s been very interested in the work the MMIC has been doing.”

Niall nods his agreement, but before he has a chance to say anything, there’s another knock on the door.

“Our final guest!” Louis exclaims with childish excitement, exiting the room quickly.

Left alone with the Horans, Harry’s discomfort seems to fill the room like a dense fog. It is as if when Louis was in the room, his unease was kept at bay, but now in Louis’ absence, Harry is at a loss.

“It’s a pleasant Sunday,” Harry remarks.

Niall looks at him, a slightly confused look on his face at Harry’s attempt at pleasantries.

Nevertheless, Harry tries again, “I always find Sundays in the spring to be very agreeable. With the earth starting to warm up again and the flowers in bloom.”

Albert giggles, and Mrs. Horan nudges his shoulder, shushing him.

“Yes,” Niall agrees hesitantly. “They’re very nice.”

Mercifully, Harry is spared any further awkwardness by Louis’ return. When Harry sees who the guest is, he can’t help but inhale sharply in surprise.

“Mr. Payne!” Harry exclaims, reaching out to shake his hand. “Hello, how are you? How is Mrs. Payne?”

Mr. Payne also seems surprised to see Harry, but he recovers quickly. “I’m very well, sir, and Mrs. Payne, she’s doing much better. Still in pain, but the nurse comes by every day now which helps her greatly.”

“I’m so glad to hear it,” Harry replies earnestly.

“Niall,” Louis continues, “this is Liam Payne.”

The two men shake hands. “I’m very sorry to hear about what happened to your wife,” Niall says. “But I’m very glad to hear she’s doing better.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Payne replies. “The doctor says it will be a slow recovery, but I am thankful she will recover at all.”

Louis finishes the introductions and after everyone insists on referring to one another on a first name basis, the seven of them head into the dining room for luncheon.

The servants bring out tea and sandwiches, and Harry is thankful for something to occupy him. He takes care preparing his tea, and mostly listens as Louis leads the conversation. He asks Liam about his daughters, and Liam tells Albert and Grace that his girls are about the same age as them, and that they should arrange a play date soon.

Niall tells the story of how he and Claire met in County Westmeath in Ireland, which makes everyone at the table smile.

“We worked together on Claire’s father’s sheep farm,” Niall explains, voice fond. “I was mighty impressed with her straight away because she worked as hard as ten lads and knew more about the business, too. I never stood a chance.”

Claire smiles at her husband. “He was always singing songs while he worked. Never seemed bothered by the strain of the job. Just got on with it, and always with a smile. We were mated and married before the end of Niall’s first year at the farm.”

Harry smiles at the clearly besotted couple. “What brought you to Manchester, then?”

“Work,” Niall answers simply.

“When my father passed away five years ago,” Claire elaborates. “The farm went to my older brother. He and his wife decided to sell the farm and take the profit and sail to New York. We lost our livelihood, so we came to Manchester, where we knew there was work.”

“Something similar happened to me,” Liam pipes up. “Lived just outside Birmingham my whole life, and there’s a lot of work there, don’t get me wrong. But when my parents passed away, I just didn’t want to stay. We’ve been up here for about two years now.”

“Gotta go where there’s work,” Niall says with a nod.

Harry finds himself unsure of how to respond as silence falls across the table. He can relate to neither man’s plight. Harry’s path was always laid out for him. He has always known exactly what he would do, and as long as he did his job well, he would never have to worry about money or work for the rest of his life. A sense of trepidation washes over him as he wonders what it would be like to grow up with such uncertainty, to have to go where the work was, regardless if that place wasn’t home.

“Do you ever go back to Ireland?” Harry asks Niall and Claire. “Or Birmingham?” he directs to Liam.

Niall shakes his head. “Haven’t been back to Ireland in about three years. We’re hoping to go back sometime next summer, but we don’t know.”

“It’s hard to get away,” Liam agrees. “My sisters are still in Birmingham, and my sister Ruth’s got a new baby just a couple months ago. Would love to meet him.”

“What’s his name?” Harry asks, feeling an undeniable fondness at the mention of babies.

“William,” Liam replies. “Liam comes from the name William, so Ruth said she named her boy after me.”

“Oh, Liam, that’s beautiful,” Louis says. “Shows how much your sister must love you.”

“Yes,” Liam agrees. “She loves me a great deal, and I love her the same. Just miss her to bits.”

“I would imagine so,” Harry agrees. “Having family so far away is very difficult.”

Niall and Liam look at him with shock, as if they believed mutual understanding was impossible because Harry spoke one language and they spoke another.

“My mother lived in Manchester my whole life,” Harry elaborates. “She’s recently moved to Cheshire, and while I know she is much happier there, I miss seeing her as frequently as I used to.” Harry huffs a small laugh. “I know it is selfish of me to wish she was living so close to me again, but it is hard when your family isn’t within easy reach.”

“Yes,” Liam agrees tentatively. “That’s true. Thank you for saying that, sir. I mean, Harry.”

Harry shares a smile of understanding with Liam and Niall, and Harry feels that maybe he and these men aren’t so different after all.

The conversation drifts back to lighter topics. Louis shares some stories from his time in New York, with Claire pitching in about how her brother and his wife find the city. She says that she gets a letter from him about every six months, and she always loves hearing about New York and all the different people they’ve met.

Their conversations are civil and pleasant, even if they are fairly surface level. Harry feels himself relax as the luncheon continues, mostly due to Louis’ clear ease. Louis keeps the conversation moving effortlessly, asking interesting questions and sharing amusing stories. Liam, Niall, and Niall’s family also seem to relax eventually, no longer constantly casting Harry nervous glances.

The meal soon finishes. Louis proposes an after dinner drink, but the Horans announce that they need to go.

“We have another engagement tonight,” Niall says, glancing at his wife. Harry catches his eye, but Niall looks away quickly, his sunny expression now transformed into one of awkwardness. Harry’s brow pinches together in confusion, but he pays no attention to it.

Everyone says their farewells, saying how much they enjoyed the afternoon.

“Please give your wife my best,” Harry says as he shakes Liam’s hand. “I would like to call on you sometime this week, if that is alright. To check in on your family.”

Liam squeezes his hand firmly. “You’re welcome anytime.”

As Niall leaves, he claps Harry on the back. He smiles at Harry, his earlier discomfort seemingly gone. “See you at the mill tomorrow, boss.”

“Have a good evening,” Harry replies to the Horan family, smiling at the children as they leave.

As everyone leaves, Harry lingers. Louis gives his guests one final wave before shutting the door behind him and turning to Harry.

“When you invited me to luncheon,” Harry begins slowly, “I wasn’t expecting that.”

Louis huffs a quiet laugh. “Believe me, they weren’t expecting you either.”

Harry quirks a brow.

“I invited them because I want to get to know them better,” Louis explains. “Liam came by the MMIC offices this past week and we began chatting and he seemed like he needed a friend. So much is going on with his family and I thought it might be nice for him to find people he can talk to about it. And Niall is so easy going; I thought he and Liam would get on well.”

“But you’ve only known Niall a couple weeks?” Harry asks, confused.

“Yes,” Louis replies, “but we’ve struck up a fast friendship. He’s very clever and has lots of opinions about the work the MMIC’s doing and wanted to know all about it. He’s funny, too.” Louis’ smile is bittersweet. “Reminds me of Lilah. She and Niall would have gotten on like a house on fire.”

“So you invited them over because you want to become their friends?” Harry clarifies.

Louis nods. “Yes. Everyone needs friends, Harry, and I don’t care what walk of life they come from. Everyone needs a support system around them, someone to talk to. And that’s why I invited you, too. So that you could get to know the people around you, and me, too.”

“You wanted me to get to know you?” Harry asks, feeling his heart thump heavily at the implication.

Louis holds his gaze, and for a moment, everything is frozen. Then, Louis nods. “We clearly get on, even if we don’t always agree. We’re going to be working closely together the next couple of months. Why shouldn’t we be friends?”

Harry smiles. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I enjoyed my afternoon getting to know the others,” Harry swallows hastily, hoping his words don’t sound as heavy as they feel, “and I’ve enjoyed getting to know you, too.”

“Good,” Louis replies. “Then friends we shall be.”

At Louis’ words, a light perfume begins to fill the room. Soft, but oh so enchanting. Harry’s mouth suddenly feels very wet, as the sweet smell that he has been thinking of for weeks finally fills his senses once again.

Roses.

Harry’s brain immediately feels hazy, and Louis’ eyes appear glassy. They study each other for a moment, and Harry feels disconnected, as if he’s watching the scene from above. Too lost in the moment, too overcome with desire to taste that smell with his tongue…

That very thought is what pulls Harry’s mind out of the fog. He takes a step away from Louis, who still watches him with heavily lidded eyes.

“I will see you tomorrow,” Harry says hastily, hand scrambling for the doorknob. “Good afternoon, Louis.”

“Good afternoon,” Louis swallows thickly, “Harry.”

Harry quickly steps outside. He shuts the door firmly behind him, cutting off the intoxicating smell of roses. The spring air clears his head a little, but Harry has to fight the urge to fling open the door again and drown in Louis’ smell.

Because he heard Louis’ tone as he said Harry’s name. He heard that he wasn’t just calling him Harry.

He was calling him alpha.

 

The next day, Louis doesn’t come to Hampton with the other MMIC members.

Harry tries not to notice his absence, tries to tell himself that it’s not his concern and that he should be focusing on the actual work he has to do. It is a vain attempt.

The bell to signal the beginning of lunch has barely rung before Harry is leaving his office and heading to the workers’ dining hall.

The dining hall is noisy and dark, men and women crowded into a queue as they get their stew for the day. Harry’s eyes scan the crowd, and when his gaze falls on Niall, he smiles kindly at Harry, nodding in acknowledgement. Harry nods in return, a sense of understanding passing between the two of them.

But then Harry’s eyes are quickly weaving through the clumps of people, hoping that maybe he misjudged and that Louis actually is there. But when his eyes fall on two other MMIC workers, Louis is nowhere to be seen.

Harry feels curious eyes on him, and he is clearly out of place. For a moment he contemplates retreating back to his office and burrowing his nose in his books for the rest of the day.

But dammit, this is his mill. Harry can be in the mess hall if he damn well pleases. And right now, he does. So this is where he’s going to be.

Trying to muster up some of his usually-accessible confidence, Harry strides over to the MMIC workers sitting at the far end of one of the benches.

When they see him approaching, they both put down their spoons and watch him hesitantly. Harry has only spoken to them in passing before – Louis is always the one he works with directly. He doesn’t even know their names, but Harry knows, as they watch him come closer, that they know his.

“Good afternoon,” Harry greets them.

“Good afternoon, sir,” the man and woman reply cautiously.

Harry attempts to smile kindly at them, but he’s afraid it likely comes across as a grimace. “It’s horribly rude of me, but I don’t think we were ever introduced. What are your names?”

“I’m Suzanne,” the woman replies. Her bright red hair is pulled back into messy plaits. Her Scottish accent is noticeable even in those few words.

“I’m Timothy,” the man says. He has a thick, black beard, the hair covering his mouth completely. He watches Harry with apprehension and distrust. Harry supposes that if he were in their situation, he would feel the same way.

“Pleased to officially meet you, Suzanne and Timothy,” Harry replies. “I’m Harry and I wanted to thank you for the work you’re doing at Hampton.”

Suzanne and Timothy quickly exchange a confused look, but then offer him tentative smiles.

“Thank you, sir,” Timothy replies.

“We’re happy to help in whatever way we can,” Suzanne adds.

“Well, that is appreciated,” Harry smiles again, and is pleased to see them return the smiles. “I had some work I needed to go over with Louis.” He hopes his tone sounds casual, but he’s unsure if he succeeds. “Is he going to be in today?”

Suzanne shakes her head, looking at the ground. “No, sir. He’s away this week.”

“Away?” Harry questions, confused. “I only saw him yesterday and he made no mention of travel.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Timothy says. “He won’t be back until next week. Is there anything I can help you with?”

“No, no,” Harry replies, waving his hand distractedly. He steps away, heading towards the door. “Thank you so much for your time. I’ll speak with him when he comes back.”

“Would you like us to tell him to speak with you straight away?” Suzanne asks. “Once he’s back.”

“Yes,” Harry says too hastily, taking a step towards Suzanne and Timothy. Catching his over-eagerness, Harry steps towards the door again, tottering awkwardly for a moment on his feet. “It’s nothing pressing – nothing urgent – I would just like to see him,” Harry attempts to explain, feeling like his tongue is twisted into a knot. “Just whenever he’s back.”

“Yes, sir,” Suzanne and Timothy respond simultaneously, still watching him with a bit of confusion.

“Thank you so much,” Harry says again, before finally dashing away and out the door.

“You’re an embarrassment,” Harry mutters to himself as he stalks up the stairs to his office, clapping his palm against his forehead. “Like an infatuated schoolboy.”

He closes the door to his office a bit more aggressively than he intends, making him jump.

Sighing heavily, Harry plops down into his chair.

Louis had made no mention of travel when they spoke only yesterday. In fact, when Harry mentioned that he’d see Louis today, Louis had agreed. Harry’s sure of it. Why would Louis say he would see Harry today and then not show up? What could be of such importance that wouldn’t Louis come to Hampton today and not even send Harry a note to let him know of his absence?

He sighs with frustration. Louis had seemed absolutely fine when Harry had left his house yesterday. Didn’t seem ill or in a rush to leave on his supposed travel plans. He just seemed…

Harry sits upright, elbows knocking against the desk in his haste.

Louis’ smell.

Harry bites his lip, considering.

Despite the social progress during Queen Victoria’s reign, an omega’s heat is still considered by some to be a taboo or inappropriate topic of discussion. When an omega is in heat, their absences are often justified through phrases like they’re “feeling unwell” or are “indisposed” for a couple of days.

What if being “away” is also one of those phrases?

Louis could be in heat. He could have _started_ his heat while Harry was in the room.

Harry can’t help but groan at the thought, Louis’ smell returning unbidden to his senses. Louis overpowered his suppressants, yet again. It should be impossible, even when an omega is going into heat.

And yet.

What if Louis had needed him yesterday? What if Louis’ body was calling out so strongly for Harry that he overpowered his suppressants, desperate to be taken care of by the alpha in the room? The alpha who hopefully Louis has been feeling a pull towards as strongly as Harry has been feeling towards him.

Harry’s cock twitches at the mere thought. The thought of Louis needing _him_ , being wet _for him_ , smelling like heaven _for him_.

His hands grip the desk, nearly hard enough to splinter the wood beneath his fingers.

For one wild moment, Harry almost thinks he can smell Louis through the walls. That somewhere in the city, Louis’ body is calling out to Harry, his scent traveling through streets and through brick to reach the one it most desires.

It’s enough for him to stand, his mouth salivating.

Louis needs him. Louis is close and he needs Harry. And Harry is going to go to him.

He’s going to find Louis, naked and writhing against his bed, body damp with sweat and slick, moaning Harry’s name. Harry will go to him, press his body into the mattress, kiss his red petal lips, and knot his arse until Louis is full and gasping with it. Until all Louis can murmur is “alpha” over and over again.

Harry walks with determination towards the door, flings it open, and stops abruptly.

Robertson stands before him, hand poised in the air, ready to knock.

Harry bites back a growl, hormones clouding his brain.

“Robertson,” Harry’s voice is deep, rough. He clears his throat. “I’m in a hurry. If you’ll excuse me –”

“I’m afraid it’s urgent, sir,” Robertson cuts in. His expression is regretful, clearly sensing Harry’s unwillingness to be interrupted. “I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t important.”

It takes a moment for Harry to process his overlooker’s words. Despite the primal pull, the overwhelming urgency thundering through his body, Harry knows his first and foremost responsibility is to his mill. If his overlooker requires his urgent attention, then Harry must give it.

Regardless, it takes a moment for the haze in Harry’s head to clear enough for him to answer. “Yes, of course. Won’t you come in?”

Harry returns to his desk, Robertson sitting across from him.

“What is it?” Harry hardly attempts to keep the annoyance out of his tone.

“It’s the workers, sir,” Robertson explains. “The strike is becoming inevitable. There was a meeting last night in one of the warehouses by the river.“

“A meeting?” Harry asks, attention fully focusing on Robertson.

“Only a few, from what I gather,” he continues. “The ringleaders. Apparently they’re setting up an official meeting next week for everyone. Trying to get everyone involved in the strike.”

“Why do they still want to strike?” Harry questions, irritated. “I’ve brought in the MMIC to improve conditions for _their_ benefit. Hampton will be much safer for them.”

“Aye,” Robertson agrees. “But they don’t care too much about that. They want higher wages, not safer conditions. They’re thinking that you could’ve used that extra money to raise their wages, but instead of doing that, you put it towards your mill, which is helping them, but they don’t see it that way.”

Harry exhales angrily, running a frustrated hand through his hair. The lustful heat he had been feeling in his belly only minutes before has now turned to an angry boil, overflowing and destructive.

“Those bastards,” Harry hisses. “These mill improvements help the mill but it also helps them. How thick are they that they can’t see that?”

Robertson nods. “Just greedy, aren’t they?”

Harry laughs dryly. After everything that happened with Mrs. Payne, after the deep, unforgiving guilt Harry feels at that whole situation, and now the workers have the gall to think that Harry is purposefully keeping money from them? That he’s not trying to make it so that no one ever experiences a life-changing mutilation because of their work like Christine Payne did?

“Bastards,” Harry repeats. He looks at Robertson. “When is their next meeting?”

“I believe it’s next week,” Robertson repeats. “Word is spreading though.”

“Let it,” Harry answers with disinterest. “Let them strike if they wish. There’s no shortage of workers in Manchester.”

Robertson nods in clear agreement. “Aye, sir. Think that’s the right thing.”

“Thank you for letting me know, Robertson,” Harry dismisses. “Please inform me when you hear any other updates.”

Robertson tips his hat as he walks towards the door. “I will.”

When Harry’s left alone again, he feels a mixture of anger and confusion race through him. He had believed that the mill improvements would quell the workers’ desire to strike. He had believed that they would see the value in a safer mill and be satisfied. Clearly, those were childish thoughts.

Harry doesn’t want a strike at his mill, but he will not negotiate. If they want to strike, let them strike. With the money going towards mill improvements now, Harry doesn’t have the finances to raise everyone’s wages. He had to choose between the two and he made his choice and he does not regret it.

So let them strike.

Louis and the MMIC will continue to make Hampton greater, and then committed, dedicated workers will be brought in instead.

Harry pauses, the brief thought of Louis returning his mind to the moments before Robertson interrupted him.

With Harry’s head slightly clearer, he lets out a long groan of embarrassment, burrowing his face into his hands.

He’d let his hormones overcome him, and in a moment of lustful weakness, Harry had almost run over to Louis’ house to join him in bed.

Harry’s cheeks flame with shame.

He is ashamed he thought such things about his friend. He is ashamed that he almost let his hormones overpower him. He is ashamed that he almost lost control.

“If he’d wanted your help, he would have asked for it,” Harry mutters to himself, thinking about the previous day and how sweetly Louis had smelled. How Louis had watched him with such heavy eyes. “Surely he knows that I want him, and if he asked, I would agree without a moment’s hesitation.” Harry sighs, rubbing his forehead. “He must not have wanted that, or he would have asked.”

Harry’s stomach churns, ashamed he let his imagination run away in such a manner.

With a deep sigh, Harry blinks down at his books. He’s let himself be distracted for too long. Time to get back to work.

Without another thought, Harry picks up his quill and writes.

 

As Harry steps into the ballroom at Hilltop Manor on Saturday evening, he wonders how he’s ever going to find Louis.

Every space in the room is filled with people: women in colorful, fashionable dresses and men with pristinely tailored suits and finely groomed mustaches.

Even the center of the room, where the couples dance, is so crowded that Harry wonders how anyone has room to move their elbows, let alone their feet.

The orchestra is on a platform in the far end of the room, their strings ringing out a merry tune. However, the chatter of all the guests creates its own vibrant song, filling the room with the sound of untampered excitement.

Harry feels a rush of foolishness as his eyes scan the room, not finding Louis at all. He knows no one at this party, only came at Louis’ invitation. And when he accepted, he never imagined an event at such a large scale. He wonders why Louis would invite him when there are so many people here that would easily be able to entertain him.

Nevertheless, Harry is determined to find Louis. He moves away from the door, weaving through the crowd and nodding politely at anyone whose eye he happens to catch.

He cranes his neck above the crowd, searching, searching.

When Harry’s eyes fall on Louis, an unbidden smile pulls at his lips, a sense of peace rushing through him.

Louis is one of the dancers, a bright smile on his face as he steps around his partner, hands clapping on beat. He moves elegantly, feet sure and stature poised. Clearly he received proper dance lessons when he was younger, never missing a beat or a step, smile never falling from his face.

Louis looks magnificent. His suit fits him perfectly, the dip of his waist an elegant curve. Louis’ soft brown hair is styled up, gelled back in the most modern of trends. With his hair off his face, attention is drawn to his piercing blue eyes and the sharp cut of his cheekbones. Harry can’t tear his eyes away.

The song draws to a close, and Louis applauds the musicians, momentarily turning away from Harry. Then Louis turns towards his dance partner, a young woman with long blonde hair, and kisses her cheek. They smile at one another and the woman says something to Louis that makes him throw his head back and laugh so loudly that Harry can hear it above the ballroom’s chatter.

As the woman says something else to Louis, his eyes fall on the crowd, seeming to search the same way Harry’s did only minutes ago. When his eyes land on Harry, they stop, and a wide smile spreads across his face. Louis holds Harry’s gaze for a moment, and Harry feels frozen as Louis watches him. Louis breaks their gaze only to say one more thing to his dancing partner before stepping away.

Louis’ eyes lock back on Harry’s, never breaking from him as he weaves through the room. Harry’s palms feel damp with sweat, and surely it’s the heat of the crowd in such a small space, but Harry knows it’s because of the small smirk on Louis’ lips, the bright, genuine joy in his eyes, and the confidence of each step he takes.

Louis stops right in front of Harry, and for a moment they just look at one another and smile.

“Hi,” Louis says.

“Hi,” Harry replies, biting at his lip in a futile attempt to control his smile.

“You came,” Louis says softly, almost with disbelief. He blinks, looking down at his feet.

“I said I would,” Harry matches Louis’ soft tone.

“Yes. I’m so glad you did.”

When Louis looks up, his cheeks are flushed light pink. Harry feels his hand twitch at the sight, fingers aching to reach up and stroke along his cheekbone, to feel the gentle heat beneath his fingertips.

“Are you feeling well?” Harry asks, words quiet like a confession. “When you didn’t come to the mill this week, I worried.”

Again, Louis blushes.

“I am well,” Louis replies. “I didn’t mean for you to worry.”

Harry studies him for a moment. Louis does look well. Harry can see no trace of sickness or fatigue on his face. Harry’s heart hammers in his chest as he wonders again if Louis had been in heat this past week. A sense of contentment radiates from Louis, further confirming Harry’s theory. Louis’ eyes shine and his cheeks glow and he looks so, so beautiful.

“Will you save a dance for me this evening?” Harry blurts, words falling off his tongue before he can even consider them.

Louis’ grin spreads slowly across his face, red lips parting and eyes crinkling in delight. “Yes,” Louis answers, head nodding. “You may have whichever dance you wish.”

Harry is about to request all of Louis’ dances when suddenly Louis’ name is called out in a high-pitched, nasally voice. A woman with greying brown hair, twisted up into a knot on top of her head, materializes next to them.

“Louis, my love, are you enjoying the dance so far?” the woman exclaims.

Harry sees a flash of annoyance cross Louis’ face before he turns to the woman next to him.

“Yes, it’s a splendid party,” he replies. His voice holds none of the affection it held only moments ago.

“I’m so thrilled,” the woman continues. “I was so worried that the Warners weren’t going to be able to make it, but they have. Have you been introduced to their son Wilfred yet? He’s a quiet boy, but very handsome. Come with me. You two will get along like a dream!”

“No, thank you,” Louis replies tightly. “I’m afraid it would be rude to leave Mr. Styles, as he is my guest tonight.”

For the first time, the woman turns her attention to Harry. It was as if she hadn’t realized that Louis had been speaking to someone. But as soon as her eyes fall on Harry, they widen with recognition. “Mr. Harry Styles!” she exclaims. She thrusts out her hand to him, and Harry takes it perfunctorily, lips barely grazing the top of her hand. “What an absolute delight to make your acquaintance!”

“Harry, this is my aunt, Agatha Henderson,” Louis says, and Harry suddenly understands Louis’ reluctance to attend tonight’s party. “My father’s cousin. She is our hostess for this evening.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Harry says, bowing to Mrs. Henderson.

Mrs. Henderson giggles delightedly. “Louis made no mention that he was acquainted with you, Mr. Styles. What an absolute thrill!”

“We work together in Manchester,” Harry replies shortly.

“Oh, is that with your society?” Mrs. Henderson asks Louis. “I knew you wanted to work with mills, but I never expected you would work with one as important as Hampton!” She laughs loudly, as if she has made some great joke. Harry and Louis remain silent.

“My committee,” Louis corrects, “is working with various mills throughout Manchester. We are very lucky to be working with Hampton.”

“The MMIC has been a great help to us,” Harry adds, wishing Mrs. Henderson would go away. “Mr. Tomlinson is intelligent with a mind for business.”

“Well, everyone needs a hobby, that’s what I always say,” Mrs. Henderson declares. She winks exaggeratedly at Louis. “Something to pass the time until you take your father’s seat in Parliament, isn’t that right?”

Again Harry and Louis remain silent.

Mercifully, someone behind them catches Mrs. Henderson’s attention. She waves enthusiastically at the person, calling out a greeting. “Excuse me,” she says before turning to Louis, voice dropping low, but not low enough for Harry not to hear. “Remember to say hello to Wilfred Warner. He’s a lovely alpha. Would be a very good match for you.”

Harry feels lightning shoot through his whole body, anger and jealousy like a hot iron prodding his side. His hands clench by his side, and he feels his chest vibrate with the inexplicable urge to growl. To wrap his arms around Louis and keep him away from not only Wilfred Warner, but all other alphas in the room.

Without another word, Mrs. Henderson flounces away, calling out hellos to her guests.

Harry and Louis stand in silence. Harry’s body is thrumming on alert, but he realizes he’s not the only one. He can feel the frustration radiating off Louis as well.

Sensing Louis’ unease, Harry feels his own anger drain out of him as immediately as blowing out a candle. Instead, it’s replaced with concern and the desire to comfort Louis. To put his hands on his shoulders, to hold him until he feels calm again.

“Now you see why these parties are unbearable,” Louis says with a humorless laugh. “Because I am paraded around like a trophy.”

“You shouldn’t be treated that way,” Harry responds. “You’re worth more than that.”

“Not to her. I’m only an omega in her eyes. Nothing else.”

“That’s not how anyone else sees you,” Harry counters. “That’s certainly not how I see you.”

For the first time since Mrs. Henderson joined their conversation, Louis looks at Harry. He suddenly looks tired, resigned, but a small spark of hope flickers in his eyes. They hold each other’s gaze, neither saying anything. Harry hopes that Louis sees comfort in his expression. Sees the truth in his statement that Louis is so much more than his gender.

“Aunt Agatha was raised in the early years of Queen Victoria’s reign,” Louis says. “Her parents believed that alphas should choose their omegas, and when my aunt came of age, she attended mating parties. Her husband also held the traditional view, and they met at one of those parties, and were mated and married within the month.

“My aunt found great happiness in her marriage, and for her, it reaffirmed her views that omegas should be chosen by their alphas, not the other way around. She always disagreed with me about my belief in equality for omegas. My mother is very progressive, and raised me so that I knew I had as much say in my mating as an alpha would. When I returned from New York, Aunt Agatha dismissed all the work I did over there. To her, I am only an omega. My work is simply something to keep me occupied until I mate or take up my seat in Parliament. She is determined to find me a mate, and one that she sees fit, regardless of what I think.”

“Forgive me for asking,” Harry begins cautiously, “but why do you come to these parties then?”

“The million pound question,” Louis chuckles dryly. “Aunt Agatha’s husband passed away two years ago. She has no children of her own, and since I was still in America at the time of his passing, I resolved that when I returned I would make sure to visit her often. To make sure she still had her family around her and that she didn’t feel alone. And she is lonely, I can tell. Despite the parties and the purpose she finds in seeking me a mate, she is lonely. So I come to the parties, because it makes her happy.”

Harry doesn’t know how to respond. He knew Louis was a selfless being – to commit his work to helping others had already confirmed that for Harry – but for Louis to devote time to an insensitive relative just because it makes her happy shows the depth of Louis’ goodness.

“Louis, that is an incredible thing to do,” Harry says earnestly. “She is very lucky to have you as family.”

Louis shrugs. “Any relative would do the same.”

“No, they wouldn’t,” Harry disagrees, surprisingly firm. When Louis looks up at him, a question in his eyes, Harry smirks. “Come now, Mr. Tomlinson. You mustn’t think just because we’re friends now that I’m not going to disagree with you every chance I get.”

Louis’ forlorn expression turns to a smile, and his smile turns to laughter as he throws his head back. Harry feels his body flood with warmth at hearing Louis’ crystal, bell-like laugh and knowing that he himself made Louis laugh like that.

“Forgive me, Mr. Styles,” Louis returns, eyes sparkling with mirth, lips twitching at the corners. “I forget how disagreeable of a pair we are.”

“Insufferable companions,” Harry teases.

“Arch enemies destined from birth.”

“Rivals to the end of time.”

Louis’ infectious laughter spreads to Harry, and soon both of them are laughing so hard they cannot continue their teasing.

Their laughter eventually fades, their eyes locking as they share a private smile.

“I knew it was a wise choice to invite you,” Louis says. “I knew you would make a usually unbearable evening a wonderful experience.”

Harry feels as if all the candles in the room are burning in his chest, shining out his fingertips, and lighting up his smile. “The same to you. Parties like this aren’t exactly my preferred milieu, but I believe the evening has quite a bit of potential.”

“Agreed,” Louis smiles. A mischievous expression crosses his face. “Come with me.”

Without another word, or to see if Harry follows him, Louis turns on his heels and disappears into the crowd.

Harry doesn’t waste any time following him, muttering half-hearted apologies as he weaves through the crowd. Louis heads towards the far end of the room, near where the orchestra is playing. It’s only when Louis is by their platform does he stop and check over his shoulder for Harry. When he sees that Harry is following him, he smiles and then continues on his way.

Harry follows him out of the ballroom onto the balcony. The air is cool, especially after the heat of the ballroom. Harry finds himself breathing easier. A gentle breeze blows and couples stand outside, chatting and laughing.

“I thought it would be easier to talk out here,” Louis says. The light of the full moon casts a halo around Louis, his eyelashes creating shadows that sweep across his cheeks when he blinks. “It’s quieter.”

Harry nods. “You still owe me a dance, though.”

Louis grins. “I haven’t forgotten.”

Louis leads him over to a nearby bench, overlooking the gardens. They sit quietly for a moment, and Harry can feel Louis’ warmth radiating from him.

After several minutes, Louis breaks the silence. “How were things at the mill this week?”

Harry can’t help the surprised yet confused laugh that falls from his lips. “You brought me out here to discuss business?”

Louis shrugs, unbothered. “I enjoy discussing business with you. You’re smart and you know what you’re talking about. And since I have a vested interest now in Hampton, I want to know how it’s doing since I wasn’t there this week.”

Harry chuckles. “It didn’t burn down in your absence.”

“Well, you never know!” Louis exclaims, nudging Harry’s arm with his own.

“As if I would really neglect to mention something like that to you? As if that wouldn’t have been the first thing I said to you when I saw you tonight? ‘Thank you for inviting me to the party this evening. By the way, Hampton burned down this week. Do you think the hostess will serve cucumber sandwiches?’”

Louis giggles, hiding his smile behind his hand. “Don’t be such a shit. Did Suzanne and Timothy get on alright?”

“They seemed to,” Harry replies. “When they reported to me yesterday they said they’d just been following your plan and that they’re staying on schedule.”

“Good. That’s what I like to hear.”

“Yes, it was a very productive week.” But then Harry remembers his meeting with Robertson and the troubling news he received then. “Except my overlooker reported to me that my workers are more serious than ever about striking. It seems to have become inevitable.”

Louis’ brow furrows. “Why does he think that?”

“They’ve been holding meetings,” Harry tells him. “The ringleaders are trying to get everything assembled. Robertson suspects they’ll try to arrange a strike in the coming weeks.”

Louis doesn’t say anything in response, quiet beside him.

Harry huffs out a frustrated breath. “This whole situation is such a pain in my side. I’m making the mill a safer, better place to work, and yet they still are unsatisfied. I had hoped working with the MMIC would quell their desire to strike, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.”

Louis is quiet for a moment, and when he speaks, his words are careful. “It is a wonderful thing you are doing, making the mill safer. But their frustration doesn’t come from their working conditions, but from their lack of substantial payment. They know Hampton is doing well and has extra profit, and they are angry the extra money is going to the mill, not their wages.”

Harry is shocked into silence, staring at Louis with his mouth agape. When he speaks, his tone possesses a sliver of anger, masking the hurt. “After how hard you worked to convince me to improve Hampton, and how you told me this would make Hampton greater, now you’re telling me this isn’t going to be enough?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” Louis replies hastily. “I’m just trying to explain it from their perspective. Higher wages can provide them with food, with a hot meal for their families. That’s a physical thing that money can bring them. Improvements on the mill are also beneficial to them. It creates a safer and healthier work environment, which will hopefully keep them from falling ill or becoming injured, and therefore prolonging their lives. But that’s not an immediate benefit, and that’s what they’re wanting. Fire alarms and drier floors and safer machines are all amazing contributions, but they don’t meet their immediate need of hunger.”

“So you think I shouldn’t have used my money to improve Hampton?” Harry can’t help his frustration seeping into his tone. “That I should have raised their wages, and even though they may die from the poor conditions, at least they’ll be momentarily placated?”

“Harry, it’s more complicated than that,” Louis protests. “I’m not disagreeing with you; I just understand the alternative side and am trying to explain it.”

Harry sighs, not wanting to argue. He nods at Louis to continue.

“I think you made the right decision in choosing to improve Hampton, and I’m not just saying that because of my work with the MMIC,” Louis explains gently. “It’s because you’re creating a long term solution that will overall better help your workers. Higher wages does meet their immediate need of hunger, but it doesn’t solve it. I think workers should be paid higher than they are, I will admit that to you readily. That’s not just at Hampton – that’s at all the mills in Manchester. And from what I’ve heard, it’s not just the workers at Hampton that are looking to strike. It’s spreading across Manchester, and your workers are following along, not leading the movement. But I do think you made the right decision in investing your money in Hampton.”

Harry nods, feeling deflated but not wishing to continue the discussion. “Yes, I can see that. Thank you for saying that.”

“I’m on your side, Harry,” Louis says firmly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to challenge you to see both sides.”

“I think I need that sometimes,” Harry admits.

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“Well, thank you,” Harry says. “And I’ll try not to fight you every step of the way.”

“That’s alright,” Louis says, bumping his shoulder, his tone teasing. “I enjoy a good argument, and you’re fun to disagree with. I’d be concerned if you didn’t fight me every step of the way.”

Harry laughs, feeling his good mood return to him. Louis joins in with laughter, and the air around them feels precious, removed from the rest of the world.

Unfortunately, that feeling doesn’t last as the door to the ballroom opens. The nighttime air suddenly fills with music and laughter, and Harry reluctantly remembers that they’re not the only two people at the party.

“Louis! There you are!”

Harry and Louis spin around on their bench, facing the newcomer on the balcony.

Harry immediately recognizes the young woman that Louis was dancing with. She holds her head up high, regally. Her long blonde hair seems to glisten in the moonlight. Her eyebrows are raised, her eyes dancing with familiar mirth.

“Go away, Lottie,” Louis chastises. “I already danced with you once.”

Harry quirks a brow in surprise at Louis’ brusque tone, but Louis just rolls his eyes good naturedly.

“Harry, meet my sister, Charlotte Tomlinson.”

“Lottie,” she corrects. Harry stands, accepting her hand and giving it a kiss. “So you’re the Harry my brother has been going on and on about?” She looks at Louis, expression teasing. “Or were you referring to another tall and handsome gentleman with curly hair and green eyes?”

“That’s enough out of you,” Louis gripes, quickly walking over to join the pair as Harry laughs, cheeks heating in pleasure. “My sister doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Now that’s just blatantly untrue,” Lottie returns. To Harry, she stage whispers, “I’m the smart one of the family.”

Harry chuckles, amused by Lottie’s wit and humor. It seems to be a family characteristic.

“Did you need something?” Louis asks with faux-annoyance.

“Aunt Agatha was just wondering where you disappeared to,” Lottie replies. “She thought maybe you’d hit it off with Wilfred Warner, but I figured you had no interest in him. I thought you’d be hiding somewhere, so I came to join you.”

Louis groans. “I suppose I need to dance with him at least once to placate her.”

Harry feels an unpleasant rumbling in his chest at the mere thought of Louis in another alpha’s arms. It’s not a welcome feeling, but Harry feels it coursing through him unbidden.

“That’s the spirit,” Lottie chirps sarcastically before heading back inside.

Harry and Louis follow her reluctantly, and Harry wonders if Louis feels as unwilling to part as he does.

But right as they reach the doors to the ballroom, Louis stops him with a gentle hand on his arm. Harry pauses, turning towards Louis.

“Will you dance with me afterwards?” Louis asks, voice soft.

Despite having already agreed to dance with Louis, Harry feels his breath catch. He nods, and his voice only rasps a little as he responds, “Yes.”

Louis gives him a private smile before opening the door and disappearing inside.

A faint aroma of roses lingers in the air.

Harry remains a moment longer outside, breathing the fresh air shakily. It does little to clear his head or calm his heart.

After an undeterminable amount of time, Harry heads back into the ballroom. After the quiet of the May evening, Harry is immediately struck by noise – the loud singing of the strings, the musical chatter of the guests. The room is warm and stuffy compared to the crisp, outside air, and Harry suddenly feels choked with it.

As his eyes fall on the dancers, the room suddenly feels even more oppressive.

The first thing he sees is a large hand resting on the small of Louis’ back, holding him close. A possessive touch that makes Harry’s fists clench and teeth grind. Louis’ body moves in sync with the alpha as he’s led around the ballroom.

Harry feels his insides twist in irrational jealousy. He’s never held Louis in such an intimate manner, but the alpha inside him rages that only he should hold Louis in such a way. That this other alpha is blatantly challenging him.

That thought makes Harry feel like he’s been abruptly doused in icy water. Louis would be furious to know that Harry was thinking such possessive and controlling thoughts about him. Louis is his own person and perfectly capable of choosing his dance partners for himself. Despite Harry’s instincts screaming at him that Louis is his, Harry is not naïve or foolish enough to believe that there’s any truth to that claim.

Regardless, Louis’ expression holds no joy as he dances. Harry thinks about earlier in the evening when Louis had danced with Lottie. Louis had been a beam of light then, shining brightly throughout the whole room. Now, his steps are perfunctory, his expression neutral as he dances. The man, who Harry assumes is Wilfred Warner, seems unsure and uncomfortable, not attempting to engage Louis in conversation throughout the dance. A smile doesn’t even cross his own lips. Harry wonders if Wilfred is just as unwilling to be matched as Louis is.

The dance comes to an end, and Harry feels himself applauding forcefully out of sheer relief. Harry watches as Louis gives Wilfred an obligatory bow before stepping away.

Immediately, Louis’ eyes are on the crowd, not stopping until they reach Harry’s.

Harry wonders if he imagines the look of relief that flashes across Louis’ face when their eyes meet.

Louis breaks away from the dancers, walking towards Harry with determined, purposeful step.

“Dance with me,” Louis says with hope in his eyes, holding out his hand.

Nothing could feel more natural than Harry slipping his hand into Louis’, his skin warm and hand small against Harry’s. Louis leads him out onto the dance floor, and Harry feels his heart in his throat. He wonders if anyone is watching them, but then realizes that he doesn’t care. All that matters is the man in front of him.

Louis’ hand slips out of his as they come to a stop, Louis turning towards him.

A gentle waltz begins, the music soft and lilting.

Harry feels frozen, unsure how to breach the space between them. There have been casual touches between them before – gentle brushes of shoulders – and more purposeful touches, like when Louis took Harry’s hand in comfort when they went to the pub after visiting the Paynes.

But nothing so intimate.

As always, Louis proves to be the fearless one. He lifts his chin, his eyes confident and sure. Slowly, Louis reaches forward, left hand settling on Harry’s right arm. Gently, Louis takes Harry’s left hand in his right, intertwining their fingers, palms pressed warm and flush together. Harry’s right arm seems to move of its own accord, his eyes never breaking from Louis’ as he slips his arm around Louis’ waist. Harry’s hand settles on the small of Louis’ back, where only minutes before Harry had enviously watched another hand rest. Now, Harry cups Louis’ back, holding him close and wondering if he’s imagining the feel of Louis’ heat radiating through the layers of fabric.

Harry never took dance lessons growing up. With his grandfather overseeing his education, that was never of concern. But as he grew older, Harry began attending parties and dances and learned. He learned how to hold his partner, learned how to keep from stepping on their toes. But dancing has never come naturally to him. He’s always had to think about every step, think about every movement.

But with Louis in his arms, he lets the music carry him. Harry finds that he doesn’t care about how well he dances, not when Louis is watching him with something akin to wonder in his eyes.

Harry wants to tuck him close and never let him go.

The music swells, filling the room, but all Harry can focus on is the warmth and weight of Louis against him. The soft tickle of Louis’ hair against his cheek when Louis draws them closer together. The gentle slope of Louis’ back and the feeling of his suit’s fine material beneath Harry’s fingertips. The barely-there hint of roses that makes Harry inhale raggedly.

The hint of roses is faint, but Harry can’t help but cast a nervous glance around the room. If Louis is overpowering his suppressants again, surely Harry isn’t the only one drawn in by the intoxicating scent. But as Harry looks around, no one else is paying them any mind. It seems that no one else is as affected as Harry by the aroma, and Harry cannot fathom how anyone could inhale the wonderful scent and not be as captivated as Harry.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” Louis says so quietly that for a moment Harry’s not even sure he’d spoken. “Thank you for dancing with me.”

“Thank you for asking me,” Harry responds, and he means on both accounts. For Louis inviting him to the party and for Louis asking him to dance.

Harry swears he can feel Louis’ smile against his neck. His heart catches in his throat.

“Well, I suppose if I had to attend a mating party, I’m glad you’re the alpha I spent the evening with.”

Harry’s grip on Louis tightens reflexively, inhaling sharply at Louis’ words. Surely Louis doesn’t mean – surely not. Harry can hardly bear to entertain the idea that of all the alphas in the room, Louis would choose Harry.

Harry knows it’s not the eighteenth century anymore and he knows that this doesn’t mean that Louis has chosen him as his mate.

But on some level, it feels like he has.

The waltz draws to a close, and Harry feels reluctant to release Louis. They break away with difficulty, and Harry is unsure of what to do with his hands now that they are not holding Louis close against him.

The air around them feels thick and charged, and Harry can’t tear his gaze away from Louis. Louis applauds the musicians, but Harry sees him swallow roughly, lips parted. When Louis turns back to Harry, Harry sees hope and confidence in his eyes.

And in that moment, Harry is certain. Louis feels the same way that Harry does. He cares for Harry – to what depth, Harry is unsure. He finds it ridiculous to think that Louis could care for him as deeply as he does for Louis, but nevertheless.

Harry’s feelings are reciprocated, that much is clear to him. He can tell from the way Louis looks at him, from the way he smiles whenever Harry is around, and how his voice goes soft whenever they speak to one another.

Harry feels a tug in his chest, his heart swelling with joy at the thought of such an extraordinary and amazing man caring for him.

Unfathomable.

Harry wishes to tell him. Wishes to cup Louis’ face between his hands and tell him how deeply he cares for him. To kiss his soft, red lips, to feel the scratch of his stubble against Harry’s smooth skin. To bury his face in Louis’ neck, to drown in the smell of roses.

But the moment is broken by the sudden appearance of Louis’ aunt by their side.

“Mr. Styles, what a marvelous dancer you are!” Mrs. Henderson exclaims. “I do believe half the omegas in the room were ready to fall at your feet!”

Harry bites back a retort that the only omega in the room he cares about is Louis. Instead, he smiles through gritted teeth at Mrs. Henderson. “Thank you, ma’am. But I believe I am only as skilled as my partner. Mr. Tomlinson surely deserves the credit.”

Harry catches Louis’ eye, giving him a small smile. Louis returns it, before Mrs. Henderson continues, oblivious to their actions.

“Yes, Louis. I heard Mr. Warner saying how much he enjoyed dancing with you.” She gives him a look of absolute delight, as if Harry and Louis should be as equally thrilled as she is. “You should dance with him again!” She raises her eyebrows expectantly at Louis.

“Aunt Agatha, I’m dancing with Mr. Styles,” Louis protests, voice calm and even, but Harry can sense the frustration beneath it.

“Oh, but surely you don’t mind, Mr. Styles?” Mrs. Henderson says, dismissal clear in her tone. “There are several other people I’d like my cousin to meet tonight, and surely you must understand that you’ve occupied enough of his attention this evening.”

Harry is taken aback by the blatant rudeness, surprised that Mrs. Henderson would be so dismissive.

“Aunt Agatha,” Louis says, steel in his voice. “Mr. Styles is my guest, and if I choose to spend my time with him this evening, then that is my decision.”

Before Mrs. Henderson can protest again, Harry cuts in.

“Actually, I need to be getting back to Manchester.”

Louis looks up at his in surprise, eyes showing his clear disappointment. “Are you sure?” Louis asks, the words only meant for him.

Harry looks at him, ignoring Mrs. Henderson watching them. “Yes.” He hopes Louis can see in his eyes that he’s not leaving because of anything Louis has done, but because he no longer wishes to be in this environment. He doesn’t want to bear witness to Louis being passed from alpha to alpha.

“Thank you so much for coming, Mr. Styles,” Mrs. Henderson interjects, a practiced smile on her face. “It was lovely to make your acquaintance.”

“And yours,” Harry replies, even if there is little truth in the statement.

“I’ll be with you in a moment, Aunt.” This time, Louis’ tone is the dismissive one.

Mrs. Henderson takes his cue and disappears into the crowd.

“You don’t have to go,” Louis says quietly, eyes earnest. “Just because my aunt is being rude, which I apologize for.”

“It’s alright, Louis,” Harry replies. He doesn’t want to lie to Louis, but he doesn’t think this is the time or place to reveal the whole truth. With a sigh, Harry says, “I’ve had a wonderful evening, but I must admit that I’m selfish and don’t wish to stay at a party where I can’t occupy all of your attention.”

Louis gives him a small smile, understanding reflected in his eyes. “You can rest assured, Harry, that no matter who I speak with tonight, you would still have all of my attention.”

A beat passes, Harry and Louis’ gazes locked as Louis’ meaning passes between them. Harry feels his heart thudding throughout this whole body. He can feel it in his ears, he can feel it in his fingertips. His whole body seems to be beating.

“I will see you at Hampton this week,” Harry says, but his voice rises at the end, phrasing it as a question.

“Yes,” is Louis’ simple answer.

Without a thought, Harry reaches for Louis’ hand, taking it in his. Ducking down, his tongue instinctively darts out to wet his lips before pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to Louis’ hand. The skin is warm and soft beneath Harry’s lips, and even though the kiss is a perfunctory farewell, Harry is hesitant to pull away.

When he is standing straight again, Harry finds Louis’ lips parted ever so slightly and a dark blush resting high on his cheeks.

Harry can smell roses.

“Good night, Louis,” Harry says, voice rough.

“Good night, Harry,” Louis replies softly. Ever so carefully, he pulls his hand away. He watches Harry for a moment longer before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

Harry stands frozen for a moment as the world moves around him. Men and women laugh and dance, unaffected by the significance of the moment that passed between Harry and Louis.

As Harry leaves the ballroom, his lips tingle, still able to feel Louis’ skin against his mouth.

The smell of roses follows him all the way back to Manchester.

 

The following week at Hampton is chaos.

Barely an hour into the workday on Monday, one of the machines breaks down. Harry and Robertson spend the majority of the day trying to fix it, their frustration at the situation doing nothing to help them. Harry only sees Louis once in the morning before all the madness begins. They share a private smile across the spinning room before Harry returns to his office and Louis returns to his work.

The MMIC doesn’t come by on Tuesday or Wednesday, but Harry hardly notices their absence. A shipment isn’t sent out on time, so Harry spends his day scrambling to correct the order and make sure it goes out that day. His work keeps him so occupied, he wouldn’t be able to spend time with Louis even if he did come by. Each evening, Harry goes home completely exhausted. He eats his evening meal by himself, savoring the moments of quiet and stillness. He collapses into bed immediately after his dinner, and doesn’t move until first light.

On Thursday, the MMIC are back at Hampton, but Harry again is too occupied to pay them much attention. He trusts Louis to not overstep any boundaries or to break from the plan they established together, so Harry focuses on the problems that need his more immediate attention.

As the day draws to a close, Harry feels his exhaustion spilling from him. All he can think about is his warm bed and a hot meal. He can hear the workers leaving for the day, the final bell having rung not long ago.

He’s almost finished with his work when a knock pulls him from his thoughts. Harry’s head pops up quickly, a smile already forming on his lips as he calls, “Come in.” After such a long and stressful week, spending a bit of time with Louis is exactly what Harry needs, even if they only discuss business.

Harry can’t help but feel disappointed when it’s not Louis that walks through the door, but Robertson. However, the disappointment quickly changes to concern when Harry sees the frustrated look on Robertson’s face.

“What is it?” Harry asks, urgency in his tone.

“I just heard as everyone was leaving that they’re having a rally tomorrow,” Robertson says, and Harry feels his stomach plummet. “They’re finally mobilizing the strike. They have their plan, now they’re just going to convince the undecided to join them. Workers from Irwell and Victoria Mills are also going to be in attendance.”

Harry makes a noise of disgust, fists clenching. “Damn it all.”

“They say there’s power in numbers,” Robertson continues. “If they can get workers from the big mills in Manchester to all strike, then they think you’ll be more likely to listen to them. None of the mills will have any workers. All the mills will just stop.”

Harry laughs dryly. “They forget that Manchester isn’t the only city in the world. I have no qualms about hiring people from outside the city, and why should I? There are always people moving in from the countryside more than willing to work. Always an influx of Irish immigrants hoping to escape the famine and poverty. There will be no shortage of new workers, even if all of Manchester’s workers strike.”

“Agreed,” Robertson declares.

“I’ll send a message to Sebastian and Oliver,” Harry muses, thinking of his friends who will also be facing the annoyance of workers on strike. “While those workers have their rally, I’ll see if I can meet with them and plot our own course of action.”

Robertson nods. “Would you like me to attend the rally, sir? I can stand in the back and let you know what they say.”

“No,” Harry waves his hand through the air. “But thank you, Robertson. I’m sure it will be no secret after long what their demands are.”

Robertson leaves shortly after and Harry sighs, quickly writing notes to Irwell and Victoria Mills, requesting to meet with his colleagues the following evening.

The workers find power in their numbers, but they aren’t the only ones. Harry will find power in his fellow mill owners, and he will make sure that they are victorious.

 

Friday evening finds Harry at Sebastian Fullworth’s townhouse, a whiskey in his hand and a grimace on his lips.

Sebastian and Oliver had readily agreed to meet up with him while the workers have their rally. They were both also angered by their workers’ insubordination and agreed that they would find strength and solidarity in one another.

However, the evening has been tense and few words have been spoken.

The rally was to start in a nearby church hall at six o’clock. Sebastian sent one of his servants to the rally so that he could report back to them as soon as it finished. As the minutes and hours have ticked by, the three men have sat in silence, waiting.

A nearby clock tower tolls the hours, eight chimes ringing clear in the air.

The rally has been going on for two hours now. Two hours – Harry can hardly understand. What on earth could they discuss for such a long period of time?

He sips idly at his whiskey. In the two hours since Harry has been here, he’s had no need to refresh his glass. He’s too distracted, too tense to drink. Normally, Harry would laugh at the irony, how liquor usually calms his nerves. But tonight, it’s as if he is a live wire, and not even alcohol can relax him.

At the sound of the front door slamming shut, Harry, Sebastian, and Oliver sit up so quickly it’s as if a fire has been lit underneath them. They all turn towards the door, breath held as they hear footsteps quickly coming up the stairs.

Sebastian’s servant, a young lad named Joseph, enters the room hastily. It’s clear he’s run all the way from the church hall, his cheeks flushed bright red as he gasps for breath.

“Well?” Sebastian demands, voice gruff and harsh. “What took you so long? What happened?”

“Apologies, sir,” Joseph responds, breathing choppy. “There were four hundred in attendance, and they just had speaker after speaker. It only just finished ten minutes ago. I came straight here.”

“Four hundred?” Oliver questions. “That’s a third of all of our workers.”

“What did the speakers say?” Harry jumps in.

“They talked about unfair wages,” Joseph explains. “How they aren’t paid enough for the kind of exhaustive labor they do. How they daily face risks of fire and injury and death, but are barely paid enough to put bread on the table.”

“I’m sure the crowd ate that up,” Sebastian snaps unforgivingly.

“They said that the bosses make up excuses to not give them higher wages,” Joseph continues. “They say the cotton is more expensive or the buyers haven’t paid or it goes to new machines. And they know that the mills are making a big profit, but they still aren’t getting higher wages. Say there’s just one excuse after another, and they’re tired of it. They say if they all strike together, you’ll be more likely to listen to them. If they all work together, they’ll know if they’re being lied to.”

“What about the strike itself?” Oliver asks urgently. “When are they planning on striking?”

“Within the fortnight,” Joseph says.

Harry, Sebastian, and Oliver swear, frustration and anger boiling inside of them. Their businesses are going to suffer all because of lies being spread. Because of an inability to be satisfied. A constant demand for more. Well, they’re just damning themselves. Workers are always replaceable, and the three men won’t compromise.

“Who was leading the rally?” Sebastian questions.

“David Higgins from Victoria Mills,” Joseph responds. “A couple from Hampton spoke and one man from Irwell.”

“Who spoke from Hampton?” Harry questions.

“Niall Horan. Irish bloke.”

Harry feels a sharp stab of betrayal in his gut. Niall Horan, the man he had broken bread with just weeks before, now participates in a rally against Harry and his mill. He hadn’t been foolish enough to believe that they had any kind of camaraderie, but he thought they’d come to some sort of understanding.

Apparently not.

“Someone from Biswell Mills spoke,” Joseph continues. “You know they had a strike last year and it worked, so the man who led that one spoke. The man who leads the mill improvement group spoke…”

Harry freezes, the words like a foreign language to him. It takes a moment for him to process them, to understand, and when he does, he refuses to believe them.

“Who?” Harry interrupts. “You don’t mean Louis Tomlinson, do you?”

“That was the bloke,” Joseph responds, unaware of how Harry’s stomach plummets at his words. “Said about how workers deserve higher wages and shouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“What?” Harry says, disbelieving. Surely that’s not right. Maybe it was someone else from the MMIC. Not Louis. Surely not Louis.

“Isn’t that the one you’re working with, Styles?” Sebastian asks, a smug tilt to his lips. “Thought he was supposed to be helping you out at Hampton, not convincing your workers to strike?”

Oliver laughs along with Sebastian and Harry’s confusion turns to sharp, hot anger.

“I’m sure that’s not the case,” Harry grits out, but he doesn’t even convince himself. He remembers Louis’ words at the dance the other night. Louis’ fierce protectiveness over the workers’ right to strike. Louis’ understanding and empathy for their cause.

He knows it’s true. Louis spoke at the rally tonight. Louis supported the workers turning their backs on Harry.

Harry knows it’s true, but he wants to hear it from Louis’ own mouth.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Harry says gruffly, standing swiftly.

Sebastian snorts. “Come now, Harry. Surely you aren’t upset about this. He’s a unionist, and a politician at that. You can’t actually have thought he was on your side.”

“He is on my side,” Harry protests angrily, refusing to believe the alternative. “He is on my side. I am sure of it.”

Without another word, Harry turns on his heels and sweeps out of the room, down the steps, and out of the house.

The Manchester streets are dark, the street lamps casting hazy shadows across the pavement. Harry barely notices the men and women walking past him. They nod at him, but then look away hastily as they see the steely, unforgiving expression on his face.

Harry walks with purpose, hands clenched and mind whirring. He moves quickly, people moving hastily out of his path.

He just doesn’t want to believe that it’s true. That Louis spoke against him. That Louis stood in front of a crowd of people who oppose Harry and offered them his unfettered support.

Harry’s mind flashes unbidden to the party last Saturday. How when he’d held Louis in his arms, when they’d danced together, they had felt like one. Louis had felt like his. He believed that Louis cared for him, and he even had considered telling Louis the depth of his feelings for him.

Now Harry feels foolish.

He doesn’t wish to believe it, but Harry can’t help it as the unbidden fear creeps over him that this was Louis’ plan all along. If Louis had decided to flirt and tease Harry as a way of charming him so that he would do whatever Louis wished.

But even in his anger, Harry knows that isn’t true. Louis is one of the few people in the world who is truly good. Louis would never plot in such a conniving way against Harry. It is only his anger that makes him doubt, that makes him consider something he knows to be outside of Louis’ character.

Harry turns the corner sharply, shoes clicking against the pavement. At the end of the street, he can see Louis’ house. A light shines through the window on the ground floor. The house is still awake.

Harry doesn’t stop as he walks down the street, not even pausing to consider his actions or take a deep breath. He strides right up to Louis’ front door and without hesitation, knocks thrice firmly against the doorframe.

He doesn’t have to wait long before the door opens. A thin woman with wispy grey hair stands before him.

“Yes, sir?” she asks.

“I’m here to see Louis Tomlinson,” Harry says, voice brokering no disagreement. “My name is Harry Styles.”

The woman seems shocked at his forceful tone, but she opens the door to him regardless. “You can wait in the sitting room, Mr. Styles,” she says. Harry steps inside. “Mr. Tomlinson will be with you in a moment.”

Harry nods a curt thank you before walking briskly into the sitting room.

The door shuts behind him, but Harry does not sit. Adrenaline coursing through his veins, he keeps moving, pacing back and forth.

When the door opens, Harry spins on his heels, coming face to face with Louis.

Louis is still dressed, having clearly just returned home. Harry knows that he could have been out anywhere, could have called on some friends or been working late.

However, it is clear from the expression on Louis’ face that he already knows why Harry is here. It’s all the confirmation Harry needs.

“Harry…” Louis begins, but Harry cuts him off.

“Is it true?” he demands anyways. Harry wishes his tone was sharp and forceful, but he can hear the desperate plea in it. The cry for Louis to contradict him. He knows Louis hears it too. “Is it true you spoke at the strikers’ rally?”

Louis holds his chin up high, gaze unwavering as he responds, “Yes.”

“Why?” the word feels wrenched out of Harry. “Why would you side with them?”

“It’s for the same reason I told you at the party.” Louis’ tone is even, reasonable. Harry knows he’s trying to stay calm in an effort to keep Harry also relaxed. He knows it won’t work; any sense of calm left him as soon as Joseph mentioned Louis’ name. “They need higher wages so that they can better provide for their families. I simply gave them support; I didn’t speak against you or Hampton.”

“By merely being there you opposed me and Hampton,” Harry counters harshly. “You showed the workers that you are on their side, and that makes me weaker in their eyes.”

“Is that so bad?” Louis asks, voice rising. “You are not some immovable force, Harry. You’re a man. You’re fallible, just like everyone else. Is it so wrong if they see you as human?”

“I hardly believe you spoke about my humanity at the rally,” Harry snaps.

“No,” Louis admits. “But I spoke about the good work you’re doing. I spoke about how you and I are working together for the workers’ benefit.”

“I’m sure they listened to you,” Harry says sarcastically.

“I wasn’t there to say what they wanted to hear. I spoke the truth as I know it. I said they need higher wages, but I also spoke about the good work being done at Hampton.”

“The work that means nothing to them. I could cease all work with the MMIC and they wouldn’t give a damn. God knows it would save me money.”

“Is that all you care about? Your money? How about the people around you?”

“You’re one to talk. After you went and spoke against me tonight –”

“I didn’t speak against you –”

“You made me believe that you were on my side. That we weren’t just two people who worked together and couldn’t agree on anything.”

“My work with you is not going to prevent me from standing by my ideology. I didn’t even plan to speak tonight. I just went to give my silent support, and one of the workers from Hampton recognized me and goaded me into speaking. It wasn’t planned. I offered them my support, nothing else.”

“What about your support for me? You show your loyalty to them, but my omega should support me above all –”

Harry stops. Louis stops. Everything around them freezes, except those words which hang in the air. The words ring loudly through the room, as if Harry is still saying them, yelling them, over and over again.

Louis is silent, watching Harry with wide eyes. He breathes heavily, and Harry doesn’t know if it’s from the force of their argument or from his words. Harry wants to take them back. To place his hands around the words still hanging in the air and swallow them back down.

But he can’t.

His mouth opens and closes, grasping for words of apology but finding none. Language has left him.

Then, ever so delicately, the room begins to fill with the aroma of roses.

No longer do the words “my omega” choke and suffocate Harry, but now, it is the delicious, intoxicating smell of Louis’ arousal.  

In his past several encounters with Louis, Harry has smelled roses. But barring the first time, it’s always been faint, a whisper. Now, as they stand in the sitting room, blood still boiling from their heated argument, the smell of roses is a thick, palpable fog, impossible to escape.

It fills every corner of the room, seeping into Harry’s mind and making his mouth wet. The smell wraps around him tightly like a blanket, comforting and encompassing.

Louis watches him with heavily lidded eyes. He sways forward ever so slightly, as if he is suddenly unsteady on his feet. Harry’s hands twitch with the desire to reach out to him, to catch him if he falls.

Instead, Harry holds his breath, trying to block out the sweet smell, and moves hastily towards the door. He wrenches it open, stumbles down the hall and out the front door, and flees.

 

Harry has barely been home fifteen minutes when there is a quiet knock on the door of his study.

“Sir?” his butler, Jones, asks. “There’s a Mr. Louis Tomlinson here to see you.”

Harry considers sending him away. His cheeks still flame with embarrassment, with shame, that he would speak such objectifying words to Louis, to his friend. Even though his head and heart seem convinced that Louis is his omega, that doesn’t make it true. It doesn’t make it acceptable to verbally lay such a claim on Louis without his consent. To speak as if he has any right to Louis.

Harry knows he needs to apologize. He knows Louis deserves better treatment, and even though he still feels the sharp pangs of embarrassment, he knows it would be better to do it now than later.

“Send him in,” Harry replies softly.

Harry hears Jones quietly shut the door, heading back downstairs for Louis. Harry stands, turning so that he’s facing the door. His heart pounds in his chest, throat dry, as he struggles to think of words that would give Louis the apology he deserves.

A quiet knock sounds against the door.

“Come in,” Harry calls, voice shaking slightly.

As soon as Louis steps through the door, words fail Harry. Louis stands on the other side of the room, studying Harry, expression neutral.

Harry’s hands shake.

“Louis,” Harry begins, voice rough. “I’m so sorry for what I said. That was unfair to you and objectified you, and I’m sorry –”

Harry’s apology is cut off as Louis starts moving across the room. Harry’s eyes widen, words lodged in his throat as Louis moves cautiously towards him.

Their gazes never break, and as Louis moves closer, Harry doesn’t see anger in his eyes. He sees hope, he sees confidence, and maybe, just maybe, he sees something else that he couldn’t dare believe.

Louis stops in front of him, their bodies so close that Harry can feel Louis’ gentle exhale against his lips. They study one another for a moment, Harry’s heart in his throat.

Then, gently, Louis reaches up, palms cupping either side of Harry’s face. Quietly, but confidently, and without ever breaking eye contact, Louis whispers, “I am just as much your omega as you are my alpha.” Harry’s breathing stutters as Louis carefully leans forward until his lips are by Harry’s ear. “Which is to say: I am yours and you are mine, completely,” his lips brush Harry’s left cheek, “irrevocably,” a kiss to his right cheek, “and eternally.”

Louis pulls back just far enough for Harry to see the joy in Louis’ eyes, and then Louis brings their mouths together.

Immediately, Harry drowns in the consuming taste of roses. Louis’ mouth is soft and sweet against his, lips moving gently against one another. Harry’s arms wrap around Louis’ waist, mind screaming with joy that he is finally allowed to touch, to taste, just as he has been thinking about for weeks, for months.

Louis makes a contented noise, smiling against Harry’s mouth, fingertips pressing into Harry’s jawline.

They part, Louis’ thumb running gently across Harry’s cheekbone. Harry’s eyes feel heavy, his vision hazy as he opens his eyes, taking in the sight of Louis before him. He steals Harry’s breath away.

Louis’ red lips shine, and his eyes are lidded. His neck is tilted to the side, seemingly unconsciously, but it is an instinctive invitation for Harry to bury his face in the curve, breathe in nothing but roses, the sweet smell of Louis’ skin.

Louis’ thumb trails down to Harry’s mouth, tracing delicately over his lips. Harry’s eyes flutter closed as he presses a firm kiss to the pad of Louis’ thumb.

“Harry,” Louis breathes.

This time as they fall together, they meet with open mouths, tongues slick and eager against one another. Their kisses still hold a gentleness, but now there is a newfound urgency. It’s as if the past two months are suddenly pouring out of Harry. Every time he denied to himself that Louis was his. Every time he smelled Louis’ arousal calling to him and did nothing. He has to wait no longer. Louis is here in his arms, calling him alpha, smelling as sweet and tempting as a summer’s garden.

Harry’s hands run over the contours of Louis’ body, feeling the shape of his hips, the strong muscles of his back. Louis makes a delighted noise of surprise that Harry immediately swallows.

Louis tastes as sweet as he smells, fragrant and rich. With every swipe of his tongue, Harry knows he’s becoming more and more addicted to Louis’ taste. The warm velvet of Louis’ mouth captivates Harry so that he must kiss him deeper, wetter, longer.

Louis’ fingers find their way into Harry’s hair, scratching at his scalp and tugging on the strands. Harry shudders at the feeling, bodies pressing closer, impossibly closer.

“Louis,” Harry breathes against Louis’ lips, unable to tear himself away from the lush give of Louis’ mouth.

“I am yours, Harry,” Louis whispers. He pulls away but stays close. Louis’ eyes shine, crinkled in pure delight at the corners. Harry knows his smile is just as impossibly wide, his heart hammering erratically in celebration.

“And I am yours,” Harry replies, pressing his smile against Louis’ throat. He can feel the excited thrum of Louis’ pulse, and he presses a kiss to the sweet smelling skin. Roses. All he can smell are roses. “You’re all I’ve thought about for months.”

Harry feels Louis’ breathing stutter, and Louis drags his face up for another slick, heated kiss.

“Alpha,” Louis moans quietly, pressing himself against Harry.

Harry has to tear himself away at that, body too overwhelmed with pleasure. He buries his face in Louis’ neck, and he can feel Louis’ body vibrate with the force of Harry’s groan. Harry’s whole body responds to this omega, _his_ omega, calling him alpha. His blood thunders, pulsing in his fingertips, his ears, his cock.

“Louis,” Harry groans. He places wet kisses to Louis’ neck, his jaw. “My omega. Let me take you to bed.”

“Yes,” Louis moans, relief and desire making his voice a scratchy plea. Louis presses his hips firmly against Harry’s, and Harry can feel his hardness, thick and tempting.

The aroma of roses is overpowering, and Harry’s hands shake with the desire to slip his hand down the back of Louis’ trousers, to feel the wetness of his arousal.

“Yes, alpha,” Louis sighs, voice nothing more than a rasp. He rubs his hips in a slow, tantalizing circle against Harry, making Harry inhale sharply, hands clutching at Louis’ waist. “Take me to bed. Please. It’s all I’ve been able to think about. Want your cock so much.”

Harry moans at Louis’ words, unable to deny his omega anything any longer.

“My room is just across the hall,” Harry murmurs, lips capturing Louis’ only for a moment. Louis’ neck strains to capture Harry’s mouth in another kiss, but Harry resists. “Come with me, and I will give you everything you ask for.”

In a heroic show of strength, Harry pulls himself away from Louis. They both wobble on their feet for a moment, unsteady without the other’s weight to hold them upright. Harry grasps Louis’ hand tightly in his and they stumble across the room towards the door.

They’ve barely made it into the room before Harry has Louis pressed firmly against the door. Any space between their bodies is unforgiveable, so Harry is quick to rectify that mistake. He presses his body against Louis’ every curve, every crevice, lifting Louis slightly off the ground as Harry draws him closer. Their tongues dance together, hands exploring each other’s bodies.

Louis tugs at Harry’s shirt, pulling it from his waistband. His hands slip under the shirt, resting on the flat planes of Harry’s abdomen. Harry groans at the feeling of Louis’ hands, warm and sure against Harry’s bare skin. They sear, leave a mark.

Louis’ hands quickly begin working on the shirt buttons. His fingers move expertly, their mouths never separating as Louis hastily bares Harry’s chest.

When the last button is undone, Louis quickly shoves the shirt off Harry’s shoulders and onto the ground.

Louis pulls away, mouths making a slick pop as they separate. Harry at first is confused as to why Louis has broken off their kisses, but he understands as soon as he looks at his omega.

Louis’ eyes roam hungrily over Harry’s bare torso, fingertips dancing across the skin. He runs his fingers up and down Harry’s stomach. First, he does so softly with the pads of his fingers; then, he does so more harshly, his nails scraping down Harry’s skin, leaving angry red trails in his wake.

His hands come to Harry’s chest, thumbing over his nipples. Harry gasps, pleasure shooting through his body, hips twitching in response against Louis.

“You’re so beautiful,” Louis whispers, his fingers tracing over Harry’s collarbones. He rubs his hands across Harry’s shoulders, palms flat and firm as they stroke the skin. Louis tears his eyes away from Harry’s chest to look up at Harry’s eyes. They are confident, sure, and full of unfettered, undeniable affection. “I’ve wanted to touch you since the minute I saw you.”

Harry’s heart stutters in his chest. He reaches a hand up to cup Louis’ cheek, thumb gentle against his collarbone. Louis’ eyes slip shut, his head turning ever so slightly to press a kiss against Harry’s palm.

“You may touch me wherever you wish,” Harry breathes. “I’m yours.”

“Mine,” Louis sighs as Harry dips his head down to capture Louis’ mouth once again.

Harry kisses Louis until all he can feel and taste is Louis, until he is utterly and completely consumed with the man in his arms.

Louis’ back arches, and Harry feels Louis’ heel sliding up his calf. Harry groans into their kiss, reaching down to grasp Louis’ thigh, the muscle firm and thick beneath Harry’s palm, pulling his leg up so that it wraps around his waist.

In their new position, Louis’ desire is even more apparent to Harry, firm and throbbing against Harry’s own.

Louis wraps his other leg around Harry’s waist so that he’s no longer on the ground, but firmly supported by nothing but Harry and the wall.

Harry presses him more securely against the wall, making sure he is secured with no chance of falling.

Louis gasps at the new pressure on his cock, mouth falling away from Harry’s.

“Harry,” Louis cries, hands tangling in his hair. “I’m going to come.”

“Just from this?” Harry questions, voice deep and rough with awe and desire. “Just from me kissing you and a bit of pressure on your cock?”

Louis throws his head back against the door, a low moan wrenched from his throat as Harry grinds his hips forward slowly. “Yes,” Louis gasps, eyelids fluttering, lips parted. “Been waiting so long. Want it so much.”

“Want to see you come,” Harry grits out, hips working rhythmically against Louis’. He takes Louis’ wrists in his hand, pressing them above Louis’ head before tangling their fingers together. “You’re so beautiful. I can’t get you out of my head. Want to see you come. Want to see how beautiful you are when you do.”

Louis cries out, hips moving frantically against Harry’s, meeting him for each thrust to create perfect, delicious friction.

“You make me so hard, Louis,” Harry breathes, dipping his mouth down to suck at Louis’ neck. “Louis,” he whispers, placing an open mouthed kiss to his neck. “Louis,” a kiss to the other side of his neck. Louis moans, thrusts turning erratic. “My omega,” Harry murmurs as he kisses Louis’ lips.

Louis gasps, eyes fluttering closed and body seizing up as he comes. Harry kisses Louis’ slack mouth as Louis shudders and moans with pleasure, spilling into his trousers.

“My sweet, perfect omega,” Harry praises, kissing him over and over again. “Just want to make you feel good. Only ever want to make you feel good.”

Harry releases Louis’ wrists, reaching down to feel the wetness seeping through the fabric of Louis’ trousers. Harry’s throat feels tight, his hands shake at the knowledge that Louis was so desperate for him, he came before Harry even had a chance to take off any of Louis’ clothes, before Harry had a chance to undress completely.

Only Harry’s shirt lays discarded on the floor.

“Louis,” Harry breathes, awe filling his voice. He leans forward to press wet kisses to Louis’ neck, gently lowering Louis to the ground. Their mouths find one another, Louis’ lips still slack compared to Harry’s eager kisses. “So beautiful, Louis. Even more beautiful when you come than I imagined.”

“You thought about it?” Louis asks, voice a mix of disbelief and intrigue.

“Of course,” Harry replies. He leans back to look into Louis’ eyes. Louis gives Harry a lazy and contented smile, eyes heavy with satisfaction. “Drove me crazy the week you were gone from Hampton. Thought you were probably having your heat. Just wanted to help you through it – kiss you and knot you every time you asked for it.”

Louis hums as Harry continues to lightly kiss his neck. “I was, you know,” Louis says after a moment. “Having my heat that week.” Harry looks at Louis as he continues. “I thought of you the whole time. Thought about you filling me up, making me come over and over again.” Harry swallows roughly as Louis continues, “Started that afternoon when you were over. I almost asked you to stay, but I didn’t want it to be just because you were helping me.” Louis plays with the hair at the nape of Harry’s neck, eyes earnest. “I wanted you to stay because you cared for me as much as I cared for you. Because I already knew that you were my alpha.”

“I would have stayed,” Harry murmurs, pushing Louis’ fringe off his face, thumb tracing gently over his nose, his eyelids. “I would have stayed, because I already knew that you were my omega, too.”

Louis smiles, soft and breathtaking. Harry kisses him, has to, now that he can. Can’t help but kiss Louis when he looks so beautiful.

They kiss slowly, but when Louis parts his lips, their kisses become more frantic, more heated. Louis’ softness slips away as he takes control of the kiss. He sucks hungrily on Harry’s lips, biting at his bottom lip and laving at it with his tongue.

Louis’ hands slide down Harry’s chest, rubbing over his nipples, scratching over his stomach. His hands trail down further, fingers catching on the waistband of Harry’s trousers. Harry makes a muffled noise into Louis’ mouth as Louis firmly takes ahold of Harry’s hard length in his hand.

“Still so hard,” Louis murmurs, lips dragging against Harry’s. His tongue darts out, tracing over Harry’s lips. Harry shudders, hands gripping Louis’ waist tighter. “Make love to me, alpha.”

The words are barely a breath between them, barely audible over their heavy breathing, the pounding of their hearts.

But the words shake Harry to his very core. They realign his universe and place Louis at the center, where the only thing that matters is Louis and his pleasure. Making Louis wet and full of his alpha’s knot. Making him know how cherished and precious he is to Harry with every word, every kiss, every touch.

Harry takes Louis’ face in his hands, kissing him slowly, deeply. Louis falls into his arms, as they both lose themselves in the kiss.

As they kiss, Harry works on the buttons of Louis’ shirt. His fingers trail lightly over the warm skin as each new inch is exposed. He can feel the muscles of Louis’ stomach flutter under his touch.

Harry pushes the unbuttoned shirt off Louis’ shoulders, letting it fall carelessly to the ground. But then Harry must pull away, has to savor his first look at Louis’ bare skin.

He’s golden. The weather has only just begun to turn warm, but Louis’ skin is as golden as a summer afternoon. As if the sun soaked straight into his skin, the light loving him so much that it clings to him, not leaving him even in the dark winter months or the first breath of spring. Harry’s eyes roam hungrily over the pronounced cut of Louis’ collarbones, his hard, pink nipples, and the slight swell of his tummy.

Before the night is over, Harry intends to put his mouth on every inch of him.

“Beautiful,” Harry whispers, fingers lightly stroking Louis’ collarbones. His fingers trail down Louis’ stomach, making him shudder. They land on the waistband of Louis’ trousers, and Harry slowly unhooks Louis’ belt. Louis’ hands fall to Harry’s, and Harry pauses. But Louis does not push him away; instead, he helps Harry undo the belt and push his trousers down.

Harry watches as the trousers fall down Louis’ legs, exposing the thick cut of his thighs and the soft hair that covers them. Louis’ underwear is wet with his come, and Harry knows they must feel uncomfortable, especially as he can see Louis’ cock has already partially recovered from his first orgasm.

Louis’ eyes meet Harry’s, and Harry can see the clear desire in them. Without another word, Louis pushes his underwear down.

Harry sucks in a sharp breath at the sight of Louis’ half-hard cock. It’s thick and lovely, a flushed shade of pink, and the hair around it is dark and curly. Harry’s mouth waters at the sight.

“Baby,” Harry breathes, lost for words.

Louis’ cock twitches, and Harry’s breath catches. Without thinking, he falls to his knees. Louis gasps as Harry grips his thighs, Harry leaning forward to kiss the base of Louis’ cock.

“Do you like that?” Harry whispers, pressing kisses to the shaft. “Do you like being my baby?”

Louis’ fingers twist into Harry’s curls, and Harry can feel the slight tremor of Louis’ hands.

“Yes,” Louis exhales, tugging at Harry’s hair. “God, yes, Harry. Only want to be yours. Love being yours.”

“Baby,” Harry whispers again right before he takes Louis’ cock into his mouth. Louis’ shudder is full bodied, his hands tightening in Harry’s hair and a pretty gasp falling from his lips. Harry’s eyes flutter closed, overwhelmed by the weight of Louis’ cock on his tongue. He tastes like roses here too, every inch of him like roses.

He takes Louis down slowly, and he can feel Louis going from half hardness to full. Harry feels Louis fattening up on his tongue, cock pulsing as it becomes wetter, harder.

Harry pulls off when he can feel that Louis is fully hard. Immediately, he stands back up, head only feeling a little bit light as his mouth finds Louis’ again. Louis is pliant beneath his lips, soft and giving.

“Take your trousers off, Harry,” Louis moans into Harry’s mouth. His hands scramble at Harry’s waistband, tugging impatiently. “Wanna see. Wanna see so much.”

At his omega’s frantic request, Harry can do nothing but obey. He quickly removes his belt as Louis’ greedy hands tug down his trousers and underwear in one pull.

Harry’s cock springs free, achingly hard and leaking. Louis inhales sharply at the sight, but he wastes no time closing his hand around the length.

Harry gasps, falling forward. He only notices that they still haven’t gone any farther than the door when he uses it to catch his weight. Louis presses against him, hand working at a teasing pace.

“Wanted to touch you for so long,” Louis slurs. “Knew it would fit perfectly in my hand. Knew you’d be so fucking big. God, Harry, I’m so fucking wet just thinking about it.”

Harry’s hands twitch thinking about Louis’ wetness. Now that Louis’ mentioned it, suddenly it’s all Harry can think about. Feeling it slide down his fingers, tasting it under his tongue. He can wait no longer.

Louis’ hand falls away from Harry’s cock as Harry pulls him towards the bed. Harry sits down first in the center of the bed, and then pulls Louis into his lap. Louis straddles his legs, hands on Harry’s shoulders and eyes wide with excitement and nerves.

“Need to feel how wet you are,” Harry murmurs, hands kneading the soft skin around Louis’ hips. “All I’ve thought about since the first time I smelled you. Since the first time you were wet for me.”

“Always wet for you,” Louis replies, adjusting slightly in Harry’s lap.

“Going to touch, okay, baby?” Harry asks, searching Louis’ eyes for any hesitation.

Louis shows him none. Instead, he nods his head, eyes fluttering closed. “Yes, alpha.”

At the name, Harry can wait no longer. Gently, he slides his right hand around Louis’ waist, landing on the swell of Louis’ arse. He squeezes it, just to feel the soft give, before placing a light slap to it, just to feel it shake.

Harry keeps his eyes on Louis’ face as his fingers find the top of Louis’ crack, slowly dipping in. He runs his fingers down until he feels Louis’ wetness. Louis shudders, lips parting, as Harry slowly traces over Louis’ hole. It’s warm and wet against his fingers, the slickness sliding down Harry’s palm.

“Okay?” Harry asks.

Louis swallows and nods. “Feels so good, Harry, and you’re not even in me yet.”

“Just want to feel first,” Harry replies, feeling dazed. He runs his fingers back and forth over Louis’ hole, stroking the puckered skin with the pads of his fingers. “So wet,” Harry murmurs, almost to himself.

Harry’s finger sinks into Louis’ hole with only slight pressure. The slide is easy, Louis’ slick making the muscle give readily. Harry feels another pulse of slick at the breach, Louis shuddering above him.

As Harry’s finger slowly sinks deeper, Harry leans forward to kiss at Louis’ collarbones. He presses sweet, gentle kisses to the skin, matching the easy caress of his finger inside Louis.

“Harry,” Louis sighs, pushing his arse back to take Harry’s finger deeper. “Feels so good.”

Harry presses a wet kiss to the center of Louis’ chest, feeling Louis’ soft, fine chest hair against his lips. He begins working his finger in and out of Louis, pumping slowly but deliberately.

Louis’ head falls back, his hips working in minute circles as it follows Harry’s finger.

With Louis’ wetness, it doesn’t take long before Harry is able to slide a second finger in alongside the first. He continues to work into Louis slowly, constantly watching for any signs of discomfort on Louis’ face. Instead, he only sees pleasure as Louis quietly gasps with each press of Harry’s fingers.

When Harry’s fingers rub against the hard spot inside of Louis, Louis gasps, cock spurting precome. He lurches forward, burying his head in Harry’s neck. “Yes, alpha,” Louis groans. “Again, please. Touch me there again.”

Harry is helpless to resist. He adds a third finger, pressing all three against Louis’ prostate. Louis trembles, moans and gasps falling like a symphony from his lips.

“Gonna come,” Louis says, voice shaking. “Feels so good, Harry. Please, touch me.”

Harry groans, wrapping his other hand around Louis’ cock. Despite the awkwardness from stroking with his non-dominant hand, the slide is easy because of how wet Louis’ cock is too. Harry presses his face against Louis’ chest, biting, kissing at the skin there. Both hands are filled with Louis, his mouth is filled with Louis. He feels his cock pulsing desperately, knot ready to form. He fights the feeling, only wanting to come when his cock is inside of Louis.

Harry twists his wrist just as he presses against Louis’ prostate, and as Louis starts to come, he feels it everywhere. He feels it from his fingers inside of Louis, as his hole clenches tightly around them. He feels it on his left hand as Louis’ come spills into his palm. He feels it under his lips, Louis’ body shaking with waves of pleasure.

Louis’ hands cup Harry’s cheeks, pulling his head back from where he continues to kiss Louis’ chest. Louis brings their mouths together, kisses slow and slick, tongues tangling together.

Gently, Louis reaches for Harry’s left hand. He brings it to his lips, and with his piercing blue eyes locked on Harry’s, Louis begins laving at Harry’s palm. He licks up his own come, tongue dragging rough and flat. Harry watches mesmerized as Louis tastes his own come. Louis sucks Harry’s middle finger into his mouth, teeth scraping lightly against the sensitive skin. Waves of pleasure wash over Harry as he realizes that his omega is taking care of him, cleaning him. It feels more intimate than anything else they’ve done this evening.

“Let me taste,” Harry whispers as Louis sucks on Harry’s pinky finger, his eyes shut in pleasure.

Louis’ eyes open hazily, and with one last kiss to Harry’s palm, he brings their lips together.

Immediately, Harry claims Louis’ tongue, tasting the traces of his come. Roses. Every corner of his mouth and every drop of come on his tongue and every breath he exhales tastes like roses.

As they kiss, Harry guides Louis off his lap and down onto the bed, so Harry can crawl on top of him. Louis hums in pleasure, sinking into the soft mattress, hands on either side of Harry’s neck.

Harry’s hands and mouth roam over Louis’ body, exploring it, worshipping it. He kisses the ridge of Louis’ collarbones while he strokes the soft skin of Louis’ wrists. He nibbles at Louis’ tummy while playing with his nipples, soft gasps falling from Louis’ lips in a constant stream. His tongue traces over Louis’ ankles while his hands massage Louis’ toes. He explores every inch of Louis’ body, kisses every inch of it.

When his mouth finds Louis’ again, Louis is fully hard, and Harry is aching.

“You’re a fucking tease, Harry Styles,” Louis slurs into his mouth. “You said you were going to make love to me.”

“I am, baby,” Harry promises. “Just wanted to kiss you a bit first.”

Louis squeezes Harry’s cock, making Harry gasp and thrust wantonly into Louis’ fist. Louis brings his lips to Harry’s ear. His voice is nothing but a rasp as he whispers, “Fuck me, alpha.”

Harry shudders, Louis pressing a hot kiss to his lips, winding his legs around Harry’s waist.

Harry leans back, carefully aligning his hips with Louis’ hole. “Are you ready?” he asks, scanning Louis’ face for any hesitancy.

Louis’ eyes lock on his, black and blown. All Harry can see is his desire, his desperation. “Yes,” Louis gasps. “Please. I’m ready.”

Harry nods and then presses forward, sinking slowly into the damp heat of Louis’ body. Louis takes him easily, hole wet and eager. Louis moans wantonly, head thumping against the mattress and eyes squeezing closed.

“You feel so good, baby,” Harry breathes. “How do you feel?”

Harry watches Louis’ throat work as he swallows. His words are scratchy as he answers, “Full. So fucking full, Harry.”

“Taking me so well,” Harry praises, hips flush with Louis’ arse. He stops moving for a moment, gives Louis time to adjust to the stretch. “It’s like my cock was made for your body. Your body made for my cock.”

“Alpha,” Louis groans, cock leaking against his stomach. “Just want to please you.”

“You do. Oh God, Louis, you do,” Harry assures him. “Are you ready?”

Louis’ eyes flutter open, pupils blown black and urgent. “Yes,” Louis replies.

Harry kisses him, roses sweet on his tongue, as he begins to thrust into Louis. He moves slowly, giving them both time to adjust to the drag. His hips thrust shallowly, lips pressed to the underside of Louis’ jaw.

“Harry,” Louis gasps, fingers twisting into his hair, scratching at his scalp. “Oh my God, Harry.”

“Louis,” Harry answers, voice just as awe-filled, mesmerized. He kisses Louis’ jaw, lips, his eyelids. “My God, you’re so beautiful.”

Their heavy breathing synchronizes with the snap of Harry’s hips, the slap of his balls against Louis’ skin. Harry keeps his lips on Louis’ body, a grounding touch for both of them.

Louis tugs frantically at Harry’s hair, and when Harry pulls back, he sees desperate desire in Louis’ eyes. “Fuck me harder, alpha,” Louis pleads. “Fucking give it to me.”

The growl that is wrenched from Harry’s body is unintentional but all-consuming. The mere suggestion that he isn’t fucking his omega well enough, that he could do better, releases something deep and primal within him. He bites at Louis’ shoulder as he starts thrusting faster, harder, deeper.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Louis chants, breathy moans caught in each word.

Harry hitches Louis’ leg up higher around his waist, changing the angle. When he thrusts forward again, Louis cries out, cock blurting precome all over his chest.

“There, there,” Louis cries. “Oh God, Harry, touch me there again.”

Harry rocks forward into Louis’ spot again and again, each thrust wrenching a beautiful, breathless moan from Louis. His fingers have loosened in Harry’s hair, his body limp against the mattress as he just takes what Harry gives him.

“Perfect,” Harry whispers, kissing Louis’ lips. “Fucking perfect omega. My omega.”

“Wanna come,” Louis gasps. “Please, alpha.”

Harry groans, thrusting forward hard and deep at Louis’ plea. He’s been fighting off his own orgasm for what feels like hours, and he can’t wait anymore. He can feel his knot swelling in Louis’ arse, ready to fill him with come, claim him completely.

He wants them to come together.

“Yes, baby,” Harry agrees easily, wrapping his right hand around Louis’ cock. Louis’ back arches off the bed at the contact, eyes shut tightly. Harry presses his face into Louis’ neck as he continues to thrust, surrounded by the smell of roses.

“Come for me,” Harry breathes into Louis’ neck. “My beautiful, perfect omega. Come for me.”

Louis cries out as Harry thrusts one final time, pressing deep into Louis as his knot locks inside of him. Harry feels Louis begin to spill over his hand just as Harry begins coming inside of Louis. Their bodies shake together with pleasure, their moans blending to create the most beautiful of harmonies.

Harry doesn’t know how long he comes for, but his body feels like a tightly coiled spring finally finding release. He feels free, he feels relaxed, and most of all, he feels belonging.

He kisses at Louis’ neck as he finishes coming, Louis’ sweat and scent sweet on Harry’s tongue.

They stay locked together even after they finish, bodies joined in the most natural, sweetest embrace. Harry can still feel Louis’ body trembling beneath him for long after.

“Alright, baby?” Harry asks.

“Yes,” Louis replies, voice shaky but sure. “Just so overwhelmed, Harry.” Louis sighs contentedly and then rephrases, “So overwhelmingly happy.”

Harry holds Louis close, savoring the feeling of bare skin against bare skin, sweat mingling together. “Me too, my darling. Me too.”

By the time Harry’s knot goes down, Louis is practically asleep in Harry’s arms. Harry gingerly pulls out, watching Louis’ face intensely for any signs of discomfort. His brow wrinkles slightly, lips twitching down, but his eyes stay closed.

Carefully, Harry tucks Louis under the quilts, pulling their bodies close together. He kisses Louis’ shoulder, his neck.

“Good night,” Louis whispers, turning his head enough to offer his mouth for a kiss.

“Good night, Harry replies, pushing the hair out of Louis’ eyes. A sleepy smile crosses over Louis’ face, and then he turns back into the pillow to sleep.

Harry keeps his arm wrapped around Louis’ waist, his nose buried in Louis’ hair. He listens to Louis’ breathing even out, feels his body relax even more into the mattress. Harry inhales Louis’ scent, lips resting against the nape of his neck.

In his post-orgasm haze, Harry can’t help but feel what Louis felt – overwhelmingly happy. He has his omega warm and asleep in his arms for the first time ever. Harry’s stomach does an excited flip, knowing that Louis has fearlessly claimed Harry as his. Harry’s body, his instincts, had been telling him for weeks that Louis was his, but he had denied it adamantly.

Now as he holds Louis in his arms and listens to his gentle breathing, Harry has never felt such peace in his whole life.

Harry falls asleep with a smile on his face and his heart in Louis’ hands.

 


	3. Chapter Three

Harry wakes to the feeling of fingers in his hair, lips against his neck, and the aroma of roses surrounding him as thickly as Manchester smoke.

A smile is on Harry’s lips before he even opens his eyes. The weight against his side, the soft drag of lips against his neck, confirms that last night wasn’t a dream. That Louis is here in bed with him, naked skin against naked skin, hearts aligned.

When Harry opens his eyes, he finds Louis’ blue eyes already fixed on his, a soft smile also on Louis’ lips.

Harry runs a hand down Louis’ back, his skin warm and soft beneath Harry’s palm.

“Good morning,” Louis says, his voice a quiet, happy rasp.

“Good morning,” Harry replies. The words are simple, but Harry knows they hold everything he is feeling. The joy that he is able to say good morning to Louis after only hours ago he was able to tell Louis good night. That the first thing he sees this morning is Louis, naked and grinning and utterly perfect.

Harry’s other hand comes up to stroke Louis’ cheek, fingertips tracing over his cheekbone. Louis grins at him, kissing his palm.

“How did you sleep?” Harry asks, voice soft.

“Wonderfully,” Louis responds. “I don’t think I’ve ever slept so well in my life.”

“Really?”

Louis nods. His voice is soft and earnest as he says, “Something about falling asleep in my alpha’s arms. I felt so safe, so cared for. I’ve never felt such peace.”

Harry’s heart squeezes in his chest, and he leans forward to press a closed mouth kiss to Louis’ lips.

When Harry starts to pull away, Louis makes a noise of protest, hands coming up to hold Harry’s face in place. Louis parts his lips, and the taste of roses overpowers the taste of morning. Louis licks lazily into Harry’s mouth, kisses sweet and exploratory.

They take time to kiss, acquainting themselves with each other’s mouths and bodies. Unlike the previous night, where the urgency of desire had taken precedence, this morning’s slow pace allows Harry time to learn. He learns that Louis likes to suck on Harry’s bottom lip while he tugs on Harry’s hair. He learns that Louis’ breathless moans sound different when Harry plays with his nipples than from when he sucks on Louis’ neck.

Harry and Louis come gradually, cocks grinding against one another and with two of Harry’s fingers tucked inside Louis’ wet hole. Their mouths never separate for a moment, their taste and breath blending into one delicious flavor.

As they come down from their orgasms, Harry kisses at Louis’ neck, where the smell of roses is the strongest.

“You smell so good,” Harry whispers into Louis’ skin, nose running up and down the column of his neck.

“So do you,” Louis replies, hands stroking Harry’s back. “Like the fields in Yorkshire when they’re basking in sunlight.”

Harry hums. “You smell like a rose garden.”

“Roses,” Louis repeats, a smile in his voice. “I love roses.”

“I do, too,” Harry grins. “I remember the first time I smelled you, that day in my office. I’d never smelled anything so wonderful in my entire life.” At the memory of that day, Harry’s brow furrows. He leans back to look Louis in the eyes. “You overpowered your suppressants that day.”

Louis nods. “I did.”

“How?” Harry asks. “I didn’t think it was possible, not even if you were going into heat.”

“That’s what I believed as well,” Louis replies. “But after it happened, I went to speak to my doctor. I was so worried that because I’d overpowered them, it meant my suppressants were faulty. I knew I was having a heat in a couple of weeks, and I was scared they would fail before my heat and I would be scented.

“I told my doctor all of this, and he explained to me that there have been incidents before where an omega has overpowered their suppressants.”

“How?” Harry questions.

Louis’ gaze is soft, and his fingers stroke Harry’s cheek as he responds. “My body recognized you as my alpha.”

The furrow in Harry’s brow deepens. “What?”

Louis chuckles. “My body recognized you as my alpha. Since I was aroused in your presence, my body overrode my suppressants and called out to you, because it knew. It knew that you were my alpha and I was your omega, and my body wanted you to take me then and there.”

Harry’s heart thuds in his chest, overwhelmed by Louis and his vulnerability and his bravery. “So you knew?”

Louis nods. “I’d already suspected before that, and when I overpowered my suppressants and my doctor told me why, I knew we were meant to be.”

Harry’s smile is wobbly as he leans down to kiss Louis. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Louis shrugs. “Because I knew we were meant to be, so it would happen in due course. I wasn’t sure how you were feeling, so I didn’t want you to feel obligated to me just because our bodies were reacting to one another. I wanted you to realize I was your omega without me telling you that that’s what our biology already decided. So when you called me your omega last night,” Louis shrugs again, “I knew we were both finally ready.”

“I think I’ve known for a while,” Harry muses. “My instincts have definitely been telling me that you were my omega, but I tried not to listen to them.”

“Why not?”

Harry huffs a laugh. “Well, when we first met, you told me you had no interest in mating.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “You ridiculous man, we were at a _mating party_. And neither one of us wanted to be there. Of course I wasn’t going to openly declare that every time you disagreed with me, my heart raced. Or every time you looked at me, my words would lodge in my throat.”

Harry laughs quietly, and Louis meets him halfway for a gentle kiss. “You drove me crazy that night. At first, all I wanted to do was flirt with you, but it seemed like all you wanted to do was argue with me.”

“I finally had a good sparring partner,” Louis teases. “You can’t blame me. You’re an interesting person to disagree with.”

Their quiet laughter mixes.

“Why doesn’t that happen to everyone then?” Harry questions after a moment. At Louis’ confused look, Harry elaborates. “Why don’t all alphas and omegas overpower their suppressants in the presence of their mate?”

“I asked the doctor the same thing,” Louis responds. “He said not all mates are genetically predisposed to one another. That often, many couples mate, but that there may be someone else out there who would be a stronger match for them. Their bodies don’t respond like mine did to you, because finding their true mate is rare. With couples that are true mates, they don’t always become aroused in the other’s presence before they decide to be together, so they never have the chance to overpower their suppressants.”

“But with us?” Harry asks, heart in his throat.

“We are true mates,” Louis replies simply. “I was aroused in your presence, and my body called out to you. Because it knew that you were the only one I would ever call alpha. And that was why no one else could smell me, either. Since my body was overriding my suppressants in response to you, only you could smell me. My scent was for you.” Louis smiles. “It’s a part of being true mates.”

Harry remembers then how at Mrs. Henderson’s party he had been able to scent Louis while they danced, but no one else had seemed to notice. Harry realizes now with a jolt of satisfaction that it was because they couldn’t.

“My God,” Harry breathes. His head feels light, his blood thrums with excitement, his heart beats to the rhythm of Louis’ name. “We are true mates. You are my omega.”

“And you are my alpha.” The words are like a promise, and Harry commits them to his memory, to his soul.

Harry and Louis meet halfway for an open mouthed kiss, the words alpha and omega whispered frantically, passionately, lovingly, over and over again as they fall together.

 

Harry and Louis take lunch in bed, sheets and legs tangled together.

Harry can’t help but cast Louis shy glances as they eat. He can’t believe that Louis is here with him, smiling at him fondly, the memory of his warm skin still ghosting against Harry’s own. It feels like it should be shocking, such a drastic turn in their relationship in such a short amount of time. But instead, it feels natural, like this is what Harry and Louis have been moving towards ever since they were introduced to one another on that March evening.

They finish their meal and discard their plates onto the bedside table. Jones can come collect them later.

Harry and Louis lean against the pillows, gazes soft. Louis takes Harry’s hand in his, kisses his palm.

“Harry,” Louis says quietly, looking at him earnestly. “I want to apologize for last night.”

Harry opens his mouth to protest, but Louis cuts him off.

“I don’t apologize for going to the rally, but I apologize for trying to deceive you. I knew you’d be upset if you knew, so my intention was for you to never find out." Louis laughs dryly. “When I was asked to speak, my fear was that you would find out. That wasn’t fair to you, and I apologize.”

“No, it’s alright,” Harry assures him, squeezing Louis’ hand. “You had every right to go to the rally.” Harry looks away sheepishly, embarrassed to admit what he had been thinking, especially now that he knows how foolish those thoughts were. “Last night I was angry and felt betrayed because I thought it meant that you didn’t care for me. That the relationship we had built was just a sham for you to further the workers’ cause.”

“No, Harry,” Louis insists. “I would never betray you like that.”

“I know,” Harry says. “After last night, how could I doubt your feelings for me? I know you care for me, and that your decision to go to the strike was unrelated to how we feel about one another.”

“Yes, exactly. I have to stand by my ideology. It was never meant as a slight towards you.”

“I know. And I admire that about you. You stand by what you believe in, and that is an incredible thing. I understand why you went; I know this is important to you.”

“It is,” Louis replies. His eyes search Harry’s face for a moment, and then he leans forward and kisses Harry on the mouth. “I want to tell you why.”

“You do?” Harry asks.

Louis nods. “I want you to know this about me.”

Harry’s eyebrows knit together, unsure of what Louis is about to tell him, but willing to listen to and learn about the man he cares so deeply for.

“Do you remember when we were in your office one afternoon, and I told you that I grew up in a mill?” Louis begins.

Harry remembers. He’s immediately reminded of their quiet discussion at the end of the work day when everyone else was long gone. He remembers confessions that felt too intimate for only knowing someone for such a short amount of time, but how they had come so naturally.

“Yes,” Harry replies. “I remember.”

Louis’ eyes stay locked on his, and Harry can hear Louis’ shaky exhale as he says, “Mark isn’t actually my father. My mother married him when I was a child.”

Harry doesn’t gasp in shock or anything so dramatic. Instead, his eyebrows draw even closer together, a clear indication for Louis to continue.

“My mother began working at a mill in Doncaster when she was sixteen. She fell for a man that worked there, and she got pregnant. When my mother told him about me, he left. Went to Scotland or something. He didn’t want anything to do with a baby.”

“Oh, Louis,” Harry can’t help but whisper, voice sorrowful. Harry can’t imagine anything more terrible than a baby being abandoned by its father before it was even born.

“I never knew him,” Louis shrugs. “And I don’t really care to. My mother gave birth, but there was no one to care for me. Her parents didn’t want a bastard grandchild, and she didn’t have a partner that could stay home with me. So my mother took me to work with her.

“She carried me around on a pouch on her back. My very first memory was being at the mill, chasing the cotton around the spinning room while my mother worked. I was adored by the workers at the mill, and they were family to me. We all lived relatively close, and the sons and daughters of the workers were my friends. Eventually, my mother met another mother who stayed at home with her children during the day, so she soon began leaving me with them. I actually remember crying that first day my mother left me to go to work by herself. To me, the mill was home. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t go.

“When I was about three years old, my mother met Mark at the market one Saturday. They came from completely different worlds, but they fell in love. They married and Mark adopted me as his own son. He is my father, as far as I’m concerned. He taught me everything I know.” Louis pauses, smiles, and then corrects, “Well, he and my mother did.

“Mother was able to quit her job at the mill, and raised me and the other babies she was having. We moved to Manchester, and we lived quite well, but my mother always made sure that I remembered where we came from. She taught my sisters the same thing. We remained friends with the workers at the mill in Doncaster, and we would always make baskets for struggling families that worked from dawn to dusk but could barely afford to put food on the table.

“My mother’s kindness is really what inspired my love of social activism. That I was eventually able to grow up in a well-to-do home with two parents who cared for me was luck of the universe. My life could have been drastically different. I could easily be one of the workers in your mill. So I try to remember that and help in whatever way I can.”

“And that’s why you wanted to go to New York?” Harry asks. “Why you founded the MMIC?”

“Exactly,” Louis agrees. “I’m fortunate that I have a position in the House of Lords secured for me, but I want to use that privilege, that opportunity, to help others. Because I know what it’s like to be on that side, Harry, and I know how hard it is. If I can help in any way, I will. And that’s also why I went to the rally last night. Because I know how hard it can be for them to make ends meet.”

The whole time Louis speaks, his words and his gaze never waver. He tells his story with confidence and with bravery, and Harry is in awe of him.

“You’re incredible,” Harry whispers. “To give so much of yourself to help others. Louis, that’s amazing.”

“It’s how my mother raised me,” Louis says with a casual shrug.

“No, my darling,” Harry gently protests. “You are good. It’s a part of who you are.”

Louis kisses Harry softly. Harry gently brushes the hair off of Louis’ face, holding him close. His heart swells at the knowledge that Louis trusted him with such a private, personal story. Harry cherishes each word that teaches him more about Louis, helps him understand him even more.

“Tell me more about your mother,” Harry says, leaning back. “What’s her name?”

“Johannah, but she goes by Jay.”

“You told me she lives in Doncaster.”

“She does,” Louis replies.

“But your father lives in Manchester?”

Louis sighs, glancing away briefly before looking back at Harry. “My mother and father fell out of love. They divorced many years ago, when I was still just a boy, but they did so quietly for the sake of my father’s political career. I’m still his son and set to take his place, so no one questions his relationship with my mother.

“My mother lives in Doncaster with her new husband. She remarried shortly before I moved to New York, and she had two new babies. Twins.” Louis smiles fondly, eyes crinkling at the corners. “After having five sisters, I finally have a baby brother. His name is Ernest.” Louis laughs softly. “He and Doris hold my heart in their hands. I miss my mother when I am in Manchester, but I miss those two very much as well.”

“You’re wonderful with children,” Harry reflects. “When you were with Liam’s girls, you were so good with them. I terrified them, but you made them happy. It would be no surprise to me that your siblings would adore you.”

“Well, I feel the same about them,” Louis replies.

Harry feels his pulse quicken before he bravely says, “I’d love to meet them sometime.”

Louis grins up at him, biting his lip in an attempt to contain his smile. “You will,” Louis promises, winding his arms around Harry’s neck. “You will meet them, and they will love you.”

Harry kisses him, unable to help himself when Louis smiles at him like that.

“And you’ll need to meet my family,” Harry says, the thought sending an excited thrill down his spine. “My mother will love you, and my sister and her wife will be so excited.”

“Oh yes,” Louis hums. “Gemma and Isobel Styles. I met them briefly at the Humphreys’ party.”

Harry chuckles as he reflects on that night. “They’d love to meet you again. Gemma thought we were flirting through the whole dinner.”

Louis laughs as well. “Oh, but we were flirting all through dinner. We were just bickering as well.”

“I don’t know if I would call our discussion bickering. It definitely felt more like an argument to me.”

“Yes, but the argument was like a dance.” Louis’ fingers gently brush Harry’s face. “Sometimes you led, sometimes I led, but the whole time, we danced.”

“I like dancing with you,” Harry murmurs. “I like arguing with you.”

“Good,” Louis smiles. “Just because you’re my alpha now doesn’t mean I’m not going to disagree with you every chance I get.”

Harry laughs, full bodied and joyful. Louis has said similar words to him before, but they fill him with such explicit happiness he can barely contain it. “I would expect nothing less.”

Harry and Louis meet in the middle for a kiss, and as they fall into one another, only words of adoration and pleas for more are spoken between the two lovers.

 

The rest of the weekend passes in a similar, blissful fashion.

Harry and Louis hardly separate, skin and sweat and scent all becoming one. They kiss lazily for hours before making love passionately and reverently or desperately and urgently. They share whispered secrets under the quilts, each word baring a little more of their souls. They both only find tenderness and acceptance hidden under the sheets.

However, reality forces its way into the confines of their bedroom on Sunday afternoon.

Louis accepted an invitation for Sunday dinner at Lottie’s house weeks ago. She and her husband Tommy are hosting an extravagant dinner for the Tomlinson siblings. Louis and his four oldest sisters live in Manchester, but despite that fact, still don’t see each other very often.

Regardless, that doesn’t mean Harry doesn’t try his best to convince Louis to stay.

“Darling,” Louis giggles, half-heartedly pushing against Harry’s chest. Harry doesn’t relent, continuing to kiss Louis’ neck. He rests his body on top of Louis’, caging him in, surrounding him. “Come on, let me up. I’ve gotta go.”

“No,” Harry protests, not even attempting to keep the childish whine out of his voice. “Send them a note that you’re not feeling well. I’m sure they’ll understand.”

Louis makes an unconvinced noise, but turns his head so that Harry is able to capture his lips. Louis turns pliant in his arms, no longer pushing at Harry’s chest. Instead, his fingers trail down Harry’s skin reverently.

As if suddenly remembering his goal, Louis abruptly turns his head away. Harry remains undeterred, attaching his mouth to Louis’ neck.

“You’re making it really difficult to leave,” Louis chastises lightly.

Harry huffs a quiet laugh into Louis’ skin. “Then my plan is working.”

“Come on, Harry. I’ll see you at Hampton tomorrow,” Louis protests, but Harry can hear the unwillingness in his voice.

“Yes, but we won’t be able to do this at Hampton,” Harry demonstrates by squeezing Louis’ half hard cock while he leaves a particularly sharp bite just below Louis’ jawline. Louis whines, back arching off the mattress, body pressing firmly against Harry’s.

“Well, we could,” Louis muses, breathless. “But it wouldn’t be very professional.”

With a final kiss to Louis’ neck, Harry relents. He rolls off of Louis and off of the bed, trying to ignore his half hard cock. Louis sits up slowly, dazed. His hair is mussed, sticking up in every possible direction. He smiles at Harry, lazy and content and satisfied. Harry wants Louis to look like that every day.

Harry watches as Louis dresses, as each inch of skin is covered by clothing. The clothes that fit Louis so well, the clothes that Harry has admired so often, he now resents. The clothes that keep Louis’ skin just out of Harry’s reach.

Louis stays close to Harry’s side as he dresses, and once he’s finished, he presses a kiss to Harry’s neck. Harry’s eyes flutter shut, savoring the feeling of his omega caring for him.

Harry puts on his dressing gown, and Harry can see a flicker of disappointment in Louis’ eyes as his naked form is hidden as well.

When their eyes meet, Harry can’t help himself as he walks towards Louis, backing him up against the door.

Harry thinks about how just two nights ago, they had kissed and touched against this very door. Their passion, their desire for one another had been all-consuming in those moments. Their urgency may have abated, but Harry can still feel his desire for Louis thrumming in his blood.

“I can come back tomorrow night,” Louis says softly into the space between them. “If you’re not sick of me yet.”

“Impossible,” Harry replies, catching Louis’ mouth with his own.

They kiss lazily, Harry’s hands on Louis’ waist and Louis’ hands cupping Harry’s neck.

How is it possible that after only two days, kissing Louis feels as familiar and comforting as one’s childhood home? But simultaneously, each drag of lips is as exciting and as exhilarating as the first time Louis moaned “alpha” in Harry’s ear.

“I’ll see you at the mill tomorrow,” Harry murmurs, pulling back only slightly. Louis’ mouth chases his, capturing it. “And yes, please come by tomorrow night.”

“I will,” Louis promises.

They kiss again, still loath to separate. They do so only out of obligation, because reasons that exist outside of this bedroom require them to.

Harry walks Louis to the front door. The house is still and quiet, no sound of a servant scurrying up the stairs. It makes Harry feel like he and Louis are the only ones home.

“Tomorrow,” Louis whispers, kissing Harry one last time.

“Tomorrow,” Harry repeats, voice infinitely fond.

Louis gives him a private smile before slipping out the door.

Harry watches him go. Louis looks back before he turns the corner, waving. Harry waves back, heart lodged in his throat.

Even after Louis is gone, Harry stands there a moment longer.

Harry shuts the door carefully and leans against it. How is it possible that after only two days together, Harry’s house feels significantly emptier than when Louis’ laughter and voice are filling the rooms?

He could almost believe the whole weekend was a dream, but he knows it was not.

The lingering smell of roses in every room in the house reminds him of that.

 

Harry feels as giddy as a drunken man as he walks into Hampton on Monday morning.

His throat is dry and his hands tremble with excitement. With each person that passes him by, Harry’s heart leaps to his throat before he realizes they aren’t Louis. He feels like a live wire, ready to spark and ignite at any moment.

Harry begins his normal morning walk around the mill, but he can hardly concentrate on the task at hand.

Harry had barely slept last night. His bed felt too empty, too cold, without Louis to hold in his arms. The smell of roses was only faint on the bedsheets, whereas when Louis was in his bed, the smell was sharp and fragrant. He aches to see Louis once again, to hold him, to be surrounded by his scent.

“Good morning, Mr. Styles.”

Harry jumps at the sound of Robertson’s voice, spinning on his heels to face his overlooker.

“Robertson,” Harry replies, feeling slightly out of breath. “Good morning.”

“How did things go with the rally?” Robertson asks. He glances around the busy spinning room, and drops his voice. “Clearly they didn’t achieve their goal since everyone still showed up for work today.”

In all honesty, Harry had largely forgotten about the strike. He had been so preoccupied during the weekend with Louis’ taste and touch and smell that he hadn’t spared a thought for work.

But as soon as Robertson mentions it, the dark reality sets back in.

“A significant number attended the rally,” Harry responds, also keeping his voice low. “They haven’t started the strike yet, as you can see, but they are gaining in numbers.”

Harry looks around the spinning room. All the workers seem to be focused on their work and not paying attention to Harry. Still, he doesn’t want to discuss such a sensitive topic out in the open.

He’s about to tell Robertson this, but his eyes fall on the door to the spinning room.

Louis stands by the door, eyes locked on Harry.

It’s barely been twenty four hours since they last saw one another, but Harry feels all the air leave his chest at the sight of Louis before him. He looks every bit the professional he always does when he comes to Hampton. Suit impeccable, briefcase clutched in hand. His face is soft and sleepy, clearly having woken up not too long ago. But his eyes hold the same excitement that Harry feels – uncontained, unprecedented, inescapable.

Louis walks towards him slowly, and the whirring of the spinning mules becomes white noise. Hampton Mills falls away. It’s just Harry and Louis.

When Louis stops in front of him, there is a light blush high on his cheekbones. Harry wishes to reach out and touch, to feel the heat and the rush of blood beneath his skin.

“Hi,” Louis says. He sounds breathless, like he ran all the way to Hampton.

Harry knows how he feels. “Hi,” he replies. “How are you?”

“Good.” Louis grins. “Better now.”

Harry smiles back, dimple deep in his cheek.

Robertson clears his throat, abruptly jarring Harry from his trance like state. Louis also looks away, blush darkening.

“Good morning, Mr. Tomlinson,” Robertson says gruffly. “Pleasant weekend?”

Louis’ eyes flash momentarily to Harry. Harry bites his lip and smiles at the ground. “Yes,” Louis responds. “I had a delightful weekend. And yourself?”

Harry doesn’t hear Robertson’s response – the blood thundering in his ears drowns out all other noise.

“Should we head up to my office, Louis?” Harry asks.

Robertson and Louis look at him curiously, and Harry only then realizes that he’d interrupted Robertson mid-sentence.

“We have quite a bit of work to do today,” Harry continues, suddenly unsure of what to do with his hands. “Some important topics of business to discuss with you.”

Louis smiles, glancing at the ground to hide his expression. “Yes, I think that’s a good idea. Lots of business. Important.”

Harry and Louis take a step towards his office, but Robertson cuts them off. “Would you like me to join you, sir?” he asks. “We could discuss the strike further.”

“That’s alright,” Harry quickly dismisses. “We can discuss it later.” He glances at Louis, who is still staring at his feet. “Right now I just need to meet with Mr. Tomlinson. Alone. About the MMIC’s progress.”

Louis snickers, and Harry fights the impulse to nudge him with his elbow. Thankfully, Robertson doesn’t seem suspicious.

Without another word, Harry and Louis hurry up to Harry’s office.

They’re barely through the door when Harry has Louis pressed up against the wall, Louis’ briefcase falling to the ground, mouths caught in a greedy kiss. They’re tucked into the alcove next to the window overlooking the spinning room, so Harry knows that no one will be able to see them. It feels like they’re completely alone, even though hundreds of workers are just downstairs.

Tasting Louis again after so long without makes Harry feel renewed. It’s as if his whole body aligns and finds peace. Peace in the breathless noises Louis makes as he kisses Harry’s mouth. Peace in the weight of Louis’ body pressed up against his. Peace in the feel of Louis’ hands on his back, burning him even through layers of clothing.

“I missed you,” Harry murmurs against Louis’ mouth.

“I missed you, too,” Louis replies before giggling between kisses. “You weren’t subtle in front of Robertson, darling.”

“Don’t care,” Harry says truthfully. “Just wanted to get my hands on you. Just wanted to kiss you again.”

Louis hums his agreement. “Thought I was going to go out of my mind yesterday afternoon,” he says. “Knowing that I could have been in your arms, kissing you, caught on your knot. Knowing that I could have that but was somewhere else, I felt mad.”

“You should’ve stayed,” Harry reprimands lightly.

“No, I shouldn’t have.” A kiss to Harry’s neck. “Because then we wouldn’t have this reunion now.” He drags his lips up to Harry’s ear. “And then you wouldn’t get to fuck me against your office door.”

Harry growls, heat coiling in his stomach. “Do you want that?” he asks, pressing his face against Louis’ neck, nipping at the skin. “Want me to fuck you here in my office?”

Louis sighs shakily, hands scrambling against Harry’s back. “Want you to fuck me everywhere you wish.”

Harry mashes their mouths together, reaching down for Louis’ belt to fumble with the zipper. He tugs Louis’ shirt from his waistband, pushing his trousers down his thighs. Louis’ cock is already hard and wet, and Harry’s mouth waters.

Harry quickly pulls out his cock as well, and Louis moans at the sight. A fresh wave of roses fills the room, Louis’ head banging against the door and eyes slipping shut. Harry reaches behind Louis to feel his slick leaking, already so wet and eager.

Harry works Louis open quickly. He feels the same urgency and desperation he felt three nights ago. Just the pure desire to be inside Louis, to feel him surrounding him completely.

When Louis is ready, Louis wraps his legs around Harry’s waist, arms around Harry’s neck. Harry leans forward so that Louis is pressed firmly against the door, so that there is no possibility of him slipping and falling.

Harry lines himself up and pushes in slowly.

“So thick,” Louis groans, eyes shut in pleasure. “Fill me up so good, alpha.”

Harry moans, snapping his hips back and forth, bouncing Louis against the door. “Just want to make you feel good,” Harry says, voice deep and rough. “Just want to give you everything you ask for.”

“You do.” Louis’ hands tangle in Harry’s hair, as if it is an anchor keeping him afloat. “Feel the best when I’m with you. So happy.”

“So happy,” Harry repeats.

Louis comes first, spilling all over Harry’s fist with a high pitched whine. Harry feels his knot swell, desperate to fill up his omega. Harry’s thrusts become erratic as his orgasm builds in his body. Louis’ hands never stop moving, stroking his back, playing with his hair. Louis kisses at his neck, murmuring a soft litany of praise, the word “alpha” over and over again.

Harry cries out as he comes, orgasm exploding out of him. His whole body shakes, and he leans heavily against Louis as he spills into him. Soft noises fall from Louis’ lips, his body slack in Harry’s arms.

They stay locked together once Harry finishes coming, and Harry is thankful. He wants to keep Louis close, to feel the weight of his body and breathe in his scent. They kiss lazily, tongues sliding wetly against one another.

When Harry’s knot goes down, they both separate shakily. Louis’ legs wobble as he’s lowered to the ground, his footing unsure. Harry feels just as unstable, unsure if he remembers how to walk or to speak.

“Wish I could take a nap now,” Louis muses, voice deep and sated. “Always get so sleepy after I come.”

“Wish we could go back to my place right now,” Harry says softly. “We could nap in my bed, and I’d wake you up with my mouth on your cock.”

Louis whines quietly. “Don’t say things like that Harry, or I won’t let you get back to work.”

Harry chuckles. He pulls Louis towards his desk, gesturing for him to sit in Harry’s normal chair. Harry pulls the chair on the other side of the desk around so that it’s next to Louis. Louis sits down gingerly, and Harry can’t help but feel a spark of primal pride that he caused that ache in Louis’ bum.

Harry sits down across from Louis, their knees pressed together. Harry takes Louis’ hand in his and kisses his knuckles. “How was your visit with your sisters?”

Louis smiles. “We had a wonderful time. Félicité is at the top of her class at the University of Manchester. Not that it’s any surprise to me.”

“Louis, that’s wonderful,” Harry says, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“It is. She’s sharp as a whip. She’ll make a wonderful barrister.” A mischievous glint flashes across Louis’ eyes. “You two should debate sometime. That would be incredibly entertaining.”

Harry shakes his head. “If she’s half as smart as you, I won’t stand a chance.”

Louis chuckles. “She’s smarter.”

“Then there’s no hope for me.”

“I’d agree,” Louis teases.

Harry swats playfully at Louis’ hand, but then immediately presses it to his lips. “How about the twins? And Lottie?”

“Phoebe and Daisy could tell something was going on with me,” Louis confesses. “They tried to get it out of me all through dinner, but I didn’t say a word.” He laughs quietly. “And then Lottie pulled me aside after dinner and told me that there was no use pretending because she could smell a change in my scent. She figured you may have had something to do about it.”

“She could?” Harry asks incredulously.

Louis nods. “Apparently suppressants fail us entirely.” He smiles shyly. “But I don’t mind. I like smelling like you.”

Harry blushes, and has to kiss Louis’ hand again, but he can’t help but wonder. Carefully, he asks, “Is there a reason you didn’t want to tell your sisters about us?” He hates how insecure he sounds, but he can’t keep the uncertainty out of his voice.

“No,” Louis quickly reassures him. “I want my family to know. I want you to know them and for them to know you.” Louis chews his lip nervously. “Just, the reason I didn’t say anything was because I wanted to discuss it with you first.”

“What?” Harry asks, brows knitting together.

“I want to court you,” Louis says in a rush, glancing down. “Exclusively.” He looks back up at Harry. “I want to call on you and for you to call on me. I want to make love to you, but I also want to dine with you and attend society parties with you. I want to dance with you and only you.”

Harry chuckles quietly, pressing another kiss to Louis’ hand. “And when I called you my omega and said you’re all I’ve been thinking about since I met you, you thought that meant I didn’t want that too?”

“I just wanted to be clear,” Louis says, a slight tremor in his voice, but his words are certain. “I care for you, Harry. You are my alpha, and I’m your omega. We know this about one another, but I still want to court you.”

Harry grins and presses his smile to Louis’ mouth. “I want that, too,” Harry agrees. “I want to bring you flowers and take you to dances and make love to you and learn all your strange habits.”

“I have no strange habits,” Louis protests, but Harry can hear the smile in his voice.

“I believe it.”

“You better.”

They kiss softly, a promise.

When Louis pulls back, he gives Harry a private, crinkle-eyed smile. Harry’s heart swells in his chest.

“Now that we have that sorted,” Louis says, playing with the hair at the nape of Harry’s neck. “Should we discuss business?”

Harry snorts, pulling away. Louis’ quiet laughter follows him. “Really? You want to talk business?”

Louis shrugs, a playful glint in his eyes. “Believe it or not, I do. I actually came up with a list of things to discuss with you on Friday before I left work.” He stands up, fetching his briefcase where it lies on the floor before returning to his chair. “And as much as I want to kiss you all afternoon, we should probably do our jobs.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but can’t keep the smile off his lips. “If we must.” He stands up, dragging his chair around to the other side of the desk. As he sits down, he doesn’t fail to notice how their positions are now reversed. Louis sits in the authoritative seat behind the desk, while Harry sits and waits for his judgment. Louis looks comfortable there, like he belongs.

“Well then, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry says in an overly stuffy, professional voice. “What do you have for me today?”

Louis grins, opening up his notebook and laying it out on the desk. “The two wheels for the spinning room have been ordered, and we have scheduled installation for Wednesday. Installation will take several days, but they should be ready for use by Monday.”

Harry nods. “Will the installation take place during business hours?”

“Yes,” Louis replies. “It shouldn’t interfere with any of the mill’s work, as we’ll be primarily working on the east and west walkways in the spinning room.”

“The east and west?” Harry questions, brow furrowing. His attention is suddenly completely on the task at hand. “I thought we’d agreed they’d be on the north and south ends of the room?”

Louis flips to a new page in his notebook, eyes scanning the paper. “Yes,” Louis replies. “But the wheel company’s survey of the spinning room advised that it be on the east and west ends of the room. There is more structural support for the wheels and it will cover a greater area of the spinning room.”

Louis hands him a blueprint of the spinning room with the wheels installed on the east and west ends. Harry can see how it will be more effective as he studies the blueprint, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel a flare of annoyance that he wasn’t informed of this decision.

“Why wasn’t I told of this decision before now?” Harry asks. His voice holds no anger but a clear tone of professionalism. A drastic change from the promised words of lovers whispered only minutes ago.

“It was made last week,” Louis replies, also matching his professional tone. “We went over the survey at the MMIC offices and then made the decision there. This is the first time you and I have met at Hampton since the decision was made, and I didn’t think it was drastic enough to send a note independently.”

Harry nods, taking in Louis’ words. “I understand, and I thank you for telling me now. But from here on out, if any decisions are made that differ from ones I’ve already agreed to, I would like to be informed straight away.”

“We can do that,” Louis agrees easily.

Harry smiles, and Louis grins back. For a moment, their professional exteriors slip, and it’s just Harry and Louis smiling at one another.

“Now,” Harry says, “what else do you have for me today?”

 

Tuesday afternoon Harry calls on Louis. He brings him roses, Louis chuckling at the gesture. Harry kisses his cheek and says the roses don’t smell nearly as wonderful as Louis does.

They sit in Louis’ drawing room and a maid brings them tea and biscuits. They talk until long after the sun has retired for the night. Harry and Louis share stories from their childhood and talk about their families. Louis tells Harry more about his time in New York and about Lilah. Harry tells Louis about the difficulties of living in a dog eat dog world, where business and success are the only ways to determine value.

They only retire to bed when their eyes are drooping so heavily that they can’t stay open and when their yawns are so pronounced that they can barely form words. Harry and Louis fall asleep wrapped around one another, sharing nothing more than a gentle kiss before drifting off to sleep.

Wednesday brings the installation of the wheels. Louis stays close on Harry’s heels, challenging Harry when he disagrees and offering his opinion. But Harry feels no annoyance. Instead, he feels relieved that even though he and Louis are courting now, that doesn’t stop Louis from challenging him. Their feelings for one another don’t stop them from voicing it whenever they disagree.

The day is chaotic as Harry supervises the installation while also performing his daily responsibilities. Harry’s attention is pulled in so many different directions that he doesn’t notice the resentful glances some of the workers give the wheels. The murmurings of discontentment that spread through the spinning room.

On Thursday, Louis asks Harry to accompany him to a society party in a week’s time. Normally resistant to attending such spectacles, Harry finds himself intrigued by the idea of attending with Louis. To be his companion for the evening, to dance with him and drink with him and dine with him. To know that no one will try to find a match for Harry, because he already has found the perfect omega. Harry accepts.

On Friday, the storm finally comes. Months of rumors, months of worrying, months of uncertainty. That evening, another rally is held. When the reports are brought to Harry, he seethes with rage. The workers at Hampton speak angrily about the installation of the wheels. One man argues that Harry is flaunting his wealth by purchasing the wheels instead of raising the workers’ wages. Another man says that the wheels increase the workers’ hunger, so now they’ll be even hungrier and still not have enough food to fill their bellies.

Harry remembers when Sebastian had shared a similar story. His friend who had installed wheels and then faced backlash when the workers continued to demand higher wages. Harry and the other mill owners had laughed at the absurdity of such a story. To be faced with it now as a legitimate argument, Harry feels foolish.

But he will not relent. Harry stands by his resolve that he is making the smartest decisions for Hampton.

The workers will not relent. They stand by their demand for higher wages.

The strike begins.

 

The mill is quiet.

The spinning mules lay silent. The great wheels on the east and west ends of the room do not hum or buzz. The cotton fluff rests on the ground, a thin sheet of undisturbed snow.

Harry stands in his office, looking out the window over the spinning room.

Monday mornings are usually filled with busyness and activity. So much work to catch up on after two days of rest. Workers bustle about as they prepare to start the day’s work. The machines are fired up, filling the spinning room with a symphony of sound.

But on this morning, everything is quiet. There will be no work done today.

Harry wonders what his grandfather would say. If he was standing next to Harry, looking out over the deserted mill. He would probably scoff, say that he didn’t give his entire life’s work to Harry just for him to fail. That Harry was supposed to make Hampton the greatest mill in Manchester, but look at it now. Deserted. Disappointing. Not contributing in any capacity to the industry.

Harry sighs deeply, resting his forehead on the glass. Disappointment mixes with the anger in his chest.

A gentle hand rests on his shoulder, and Harry turns to see Louis standing behind him. Louis offers him a small smile, sadness and understanding in his eyes.

They stand in silence, Louis’ thumb rubbing against Harry’s shoulder.

“This will not last,” Louis says quietly. “One way or another, the mill will be up and running again soon.”

Harry nods, stomach clenching. He wants to believe Louis that this is only temporary. But standing before an empty mill, he has difficulty believing it.

“The MMIC will have to halt their work until the strike is over,” Harry says flatly.

“I know,” Louis replies softly.

The reason goes unspoken between them, but Harry knows they both know. There’s no reason to invest more money into making the mill safer when the mill is producing nothing.

“Let’s go home,” Louis suggests gently.

Harry shakes his head. “I’m going to send out a request for Irish immigrant workers,” he says. “I won’t let Hampton sit here and collect dust. The Irish immigration office is always looking for jobs in England, so I’ll let them know that I have many positions open. I’ll have so many people asking for work, I’ll have to turn them away.”

“Harry,” Louis says, a warning in his voice.

“I must do this,” Harry replies firmly. “I know we disagree, Louis, but this is my mill. I’ve given my life to Hampton, and I’m not going to let her suffer.”

Louis is quiet for a moment, but then he nods, giving Harry a kiss. “I understand. But before you do so, would you consider speaking with Niall Horan? He and I are on friendly terms and if you two could just talk, maybe you could come to some sort of understanding.”

“No,” Harry dismisses. “He is one of the ringleaders who made the decision to strike instead of speaking with me. I will not initiate a discussion they clearly do not wish to have.”

“I think you’d be surprised,” Louis replies. “By striking, they’re just trying to have their voices heard. They’ve felt like they couldn’t speak to you about these things, so this is their way of speaking out. I imagine they’d be more open to discussion than you’d expect.”

Harry sighs. He can see Louis’ logic, but he doesn’t want to argue.

“Let’s go home,” Louis says again, taking Harry’s hand in his. “We can rest. You can take some time to clear your head. Don’t think about the mill or the strike. Come back tomorrow. But for today, let’s just rest.”

Louis kisses Harry’s knuckles, and Harry feels himself relax ever so slightly. His mind tells him that he needs to stay at Hampton, work until the moon is high in the sky, until his eyes are bloodshot and his hands are cramped.

But another part of him wants to listen to Louis. He wants to be taken home and cared for by his omega. He wants to lie down in bed with Louis in his arms and kiss him and forget about anything that exists outside of their four walls.

Nothing else can be done today.

“Let’s go home,” Harry agrees, but his tone sounds defeated.

Louis studies him for a moment, hands still clasped together. “Harry,” Louis begins carefully. Harry meets his gaze to find a serious expression on Louis’ face. “Darling, you know that this strike doesn’t reflect on you or your work as a businessman. Strikes and unions, they’re just a part of industrialization. I saw them in New York, I see them here. Just because a strike has come to Hampton, it doesn’t make you any less of a success. It’s just a bump in the road, but it will pass.”

Harry’s lips slowly upturn at Louis’ words. He didn’t realize until now how desperately he needed to know that he hasn’t failed. That the strike hasn’t made him a failure of a businessman. A failure of an alpha.

His alpha instincts want him to be able to provide for and care for Louis, but with Louis’ gentle assurances, Harry knows that he hasn’t let him down. Just as Harry wants to care for Louis, Louis cares for him. They are in this together.

Harry and Louis walk out of the mill hand in hand. And while Harry is not sure what the coming weeks will hold for him, he knows that he has Louis by his side.

 

The week passes quietly. The strike continues, and Harry is patient. He waits, ready for the strikers’ will to break at any moment. The written request for Irish workers lies on his desk, and Harry resolves to only wait a few more days before sending for them.

Harry occupies himself the best he can. He visits Gemma and Isobel and tells them all about Louis. They are delighted for him, insisting that Harry bring Louis around soon. He goes to the mill to catch up on some work that needs to be done regardless of the strike. He tries to ignore how out of place silence is in the usually bustling mill.

But most of all, he spends his time with Louis. Louis works with some of the non-striking mills, but when he’s not working, he’s at Harry’s side. They dine together and talk for hours at a time. Harry has never craved such intimacy with another human as he does with Louis. He wishes for Louis to know every part of his soul, to understand him completely.

Each night, after they have finished their meals and talked until their voices are hoarse, they go to bed together. Some nights they make love, exploring the other’s body and bringing them both indescribable pleasures. But some nights they only share a kiss before falling asleep, content to just be in one another’s arms.

One afternoon, hardly a week after the beginning of the strike, Louis suggests they make a call.

Harry is reluctant at first, but can feel the pull in his gut that this is the right thing to do, that this is long overdue.

Harry soon finds himself standing with Louis on a muddy, cramped street, outside a one room house.

The door opens, and Harry is met with Liam Payne’s kind face.

“Harry, Louis,” Liam greets, shaking their hands. “How good it is to see you. Come in, come in.”

They step inside, taking off their hats as they do so. The house is as Harry remembers, dark and crowded, but there is a significant difference in the atmosphere from the last time Harry visited. The difference is easily attributed to the woman sitting at the table, a tired smile on her face and her arm in a sling.

Annie and Victoria sit by her side, dolls cradled to their chests. They don’t seem nearly as nervous at the sight of Harry and Louis as they did last time, and they even smile when they see Louis. Louis makes a face at them, and they giggle.

“Mrs. Payne,” Harry greets, bowing to her. “How good it is to see you.”

She smiles at him as Liam walks to her side. He rests a hand on her shoulder, but his stance isn’t one of defensiveness. Instead, his touch seems to be almost unconscious, as if anytime his wife is close, Liam instinctively reaches for her.

“And you, Mr. Styles,” Mrs. Payne replies. “Please, sit.”

Harry and Louis express their thanks as they take seats at the table. Liam sits next to his wife, his hand moving to her knee.

“How are you feeling?” Harry asks. “You look well.”

The sentiment isn’t one of polite, perfunctory conversation, but a genuine observation. Mrs. Payne’s cheeks do have color in them, and she doesn’t seem as thin or frail as she did during Harry’s last visit. Her left arm is in a sling, but the cloths are white and dry, no signs of blood stains.

“I am well,” Mrs. Payne answers. “My strength has returned and I am not in much pain anymore. The wound has healed, which has helped greatly.”

“I’m so glad to hear that,” Harry says genuinely, Louis echoing.

“The doctor only has to come once a week now,” Liam says, watching his wife fondly. “He says she’s recovering splendidly.”

“That’s wonderful,” Louis says. He smiles at Annie and Victoria. “I bet you girls have been a big help to your mother.”

Annie and Victoria smile toothily at Louis. Harry notices the older one is missing some teeth, and he feels a strange sense of fondness at the sight.

“We’ve been doing all the cleaning with Nana,” Annie says. “I bring Mummy water every day and me and Victoria sing songs to her.”

“Do you sing to her the one you sang for me?” Louis asks.

Victoria nods adamantly.

Mrs. Payne gives Victoria a playful nudge. “Go on, then. Sing Mr. Tomlinson your favorite song.”

Any trace of the shyness that the two girls possessed during Harry’s last visit is gone. They begin singing, in their high-pitched, sweet voices, “Lavender’s green, diddle diddle, lavender’s blue. You must love me, diddle diddle, cause I love you.”

“Very good!” Louis exclaims, bursting into applause. The girls blush, and Harry grins at them.

“They’ve been a tremendous help,” Liam says proudly, smiling at his daughters.

“And you are well, Liam?” Harry asks.

Liam nods. “I am well. With my Christine feeling better and improving every day, how could I not be well?” Liam and Mrs. Payne share a private smile.

“And things are going well?” Harry hopes Liam understand his meaning.

Liam looks at Harry, and Harry sees understanding in his eyes. “Yes,” Liam replies. “Work has been steady, at least until the past week or so, but we have been fine.”

“I do want to thank you personally, though, Mr. Styles,” Mrs. Payne pipes up. “For helping our family, and for paying for the doctor. When Liam told me, I just could hardly believe it. I always knew you were a kind and fair businessman, but I never dreamed that any employer would take care of his workers in such a way. I am eternally grateful to you.” She gestures to her family. “We all are.”

Harry smiles, feeling relief and gratitude course through his body. “I am so glad to hear to hear that your family has not suffered financially because of the accident. And I want to say, Mrs. Payne, to you personally, how horribly sorry I am for the role I played in your accident, no matter how inadvertently. Please know that even though I know I can never fully compensate you for what happened, I am doing everything in my power to make sure nothing like that ever happens again.”

Mrs. Payne smiles at him before reaching across the table. She takes his hand in hers, squeezing it gently. The touch is unusual, not technically appropriate between an unmated alpha and omega, but Harry can’t find it in himself to care. The touch is a gesture of goodwill, of comfort, and Harry squeezes her hand back.

“Thank you, Mr. Styles,” she says. “You are a good man.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say, so he just nods his head in acknowledgment, smiling at Mrs. Payne. They withdraw their hands after a moment, sitting back in their chairs.

“What did you mean when you said work has been going well, except for recently?” Louis asks. “Is everything alright?”

At Louis’ question, Liam casts a nervous glance at Harry.

“Um, well,” Liam stutters. “It’s just that work has slowed a bit this past week, um, due to the strike.”

Harry’s eyebrows lift. “Really?”

Liam nods. “Yes. The primary thing we ship from the docks is cotton, and with three of Manchester’s biggest mills on strike, well, there’s just not as much going out. But we still have work to do,” Liam adds quickly. “Shipments from other factories, of course. And lots coming in from America, as well.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say, but thankfully, Louis speaks up.

“I’m glad to hear it. You know how the market goes – changes like the wind.”

Harry doesn’t point out that it’s not the market at all that has halted production, but he knows that Louis and Liam know that. Louis is just saying that to be kind.

“Yes, of course,” Liam agrees.

Harry and Louis don’t stay much longer. As they say farewell, they do so as friends. Liam embraces both Harry and Louis, and they kiss Mrs. Payne’s cheek. The girls even rush to give Louis hugs, and while they hesitate at first to embrace Harry, they do so with a gentle nudge from Liam.

“You’ll come by for Sunday lunch soon?” Louis asks the Paynes on their way out.

“That would be wonderful,” Liam replies.

“Excellent,” Louis says before turning to Annie and Victoria. “My cook makes the best bread pudding. Do you girls like bread pudding?”

Annie and Victoria nod enthusiastically.

“Papa, we have to go now,” Annie tells Liam in a serious tone.

Liam laughs. “You girls know I can never turn down bread pudding.”

As Harry and Louis walk away from the Paynes’ home, Louis slips his arm into the crook of Harry’s elbow. He leans into Harry’s side, sharing their warmth.

They navigate the muddy streets, which seem even busier than the last time Harry and Louis visited. Many of the people cast Harry unwelcome glances as he passes. Harry wonders how many of them work at Hampton, how many of the people he passes blame him for their strife.

“It was so wonderful to see Mrs. Payne doing so well,” Louis comments.

“Yes,” Harry replies. “She has truly made an incredible recovery.”

“You’re so kind to them,” Louis remarks. “I can tell how much they appreciate it and how much they enjoy your company.”

Despite everything, Harry can’t help but feel undeserving of that praise. Because of his mill, the Paynes are still facing hard times.

“What are you thinking?” Louis asks carefully. It’s clear from his tone that if Harry said he didn’t want to talk about it, Louis would drop it. He wouldn’t bring up the topic again; he would wait until Harry was ready. But now, he’s giving Harry the invitation to talk about it if he wishes. He’s telling Harry that he’s willing to listen if he is ready to speak.

“I just didn’t think about the far reaching effects of the strike,” Harry admits quietly, not looking at Louis. “I know Hampton is influential and important to Manchester’s economy, as are the other mills, but I didn’t think how it would affect everyone else. How other businesses would suffer because of the strike. Not only the dock workers, but the shops that carry our cotton, too. So many people are reliant on the mills for their own businesses, and they had no say in whether or not the strike went ahead. But they will suffer anyways.”

Louis is quiet as they walk. They’re far away enough from the river now that the streets have started to open up. They’re not as cramped, not as crowded with people.

“I think you’re right,” Louis begins carefully. “The strike has further reaching effects than would be expected, but that’s the nature of the strike. It’s to cause a ripple, to disrupt and draw attention to that disruption. And yes, Hampton is important in Manchester’s economy, but the economy won’t come to a screeching halt because of the strike.” Louis gestures around them to people going about their day, not paying Harry and Louis any mind. “Life carries on as usual.”

Harry doesn’t respond, but he can see the truth in Louis’ words. Although the strike has caused a disruption in his life, the majority of Manchester carries on. People are affected that Harry didn’t expect, of course, but Louis is right. The strike hasn’t stopped Manchester. It hasn’t caused the economy to collapse or the city to descend into madness. Manchester continues, as it does every day.

So Harry follows its example, and he and Louis carry on.

 

On Saturday evening, Harry and Louis make their first public, societal appearance together.

Thus far, their relationship has been between just the two of them, whispered words and private kisses under bedsheets. They’ve been wrapped up in their own world, their own bubble, and even the strike hadn’t been able to permeate its shell.

Harry’s heart is in his throat as their carriage stops outside the large manor. Louis’ hand is clasped in his, their legs pressed together.

The dance is hosted by a young, local politician that Louis knows casually. Louis accepted the invitation more out of decorum than any genuine desire to attend, but Harry feels a thrill at being able to attend the party together. Their first party as a couple.

“Do you think it would be horribly rude of me to request all your dances?” Harry asks as he and Louis step out of the carriage.

“And deprive me of the company of all the other alphas in the room?” Louis smirks. “I would insist that you do.”

Harry laughs quietly, pressing a kiss to the side of Louis’ head before taking a reluctant step back. He’s no longer accustomed to maintaining an appropriate distance from Louis. Now, he prefers to keep his arm around Louis’ waist or their hands clasped together. But those touches are in the privacy of their own homes, and such displays would be inappropriate in public.

Instead, Harry offers Louis his arm and with an understanding smile, Louis accepts.

The weight of Louis’ hand in the crook of Harry’s elbow grounds him, reminds him that he is adored by the sweet omega on his arm, and that Harry adores him right back.

The manor is brightly lit, and as Harry and Louis approach the front door, Harry can hear lively music and chatter. He is reminded of the last dance he attended, the one hosted by Louis’ Aunt Agatha. It was the first time he’d danced with Louis, ever held him so intimately. Only a few short weeks later and such touches are now a daily occurrence for them.

“Mr. Tomlinson,” a young man at the door exclaims. He has slick, black hair and a practiced smile on his face. He shakes Louis’ hand. “How wonderful of you to join us this evening!”

“Thank you for inviting me, Mr. Shaw,” Louis replies. “May I introduce you to Mr. Harry Styles?”

The smile never falls from Mr. Shaw’s lips, but Harry can see the calculated once over he receives. “Mr. Styles, a pleasure to meet you.” Harry momentarily drops Louis’ arm to shake Mr. Shaw’s hand. “I hope you will enjoy yourself this evening.”

“Thank you,” Harry returns politely. “It is very kind of you to invite me tonight.”

Mr. Shaw waves a dismissive hand through the air. “Any friend of Mr. Tomlinson’s is welcome here.”

Harry nods, and Louis thanks him again as they step inside.

“You would think we were the oldest of friends,” Louis mutters as they hand the butler their hats and jackets. “I’ve only run into him a couple of times at Parliament, and usually when we speak, it’s not in agreement.”

“Well, you know how politicians are,” Harry comments dryly.

Louis nudges him sharply, lifting his eyebrows expectantly. “And how are we politicians, might I ask?”

Harry chuckles, squeezing Louis’ hand. “Utterly delightful.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “If you keep up that level of charm, they’ll start thinking you’re one of their own.”

“Politics and business go hand in hand,” Harry replies. “I’d probably be much better at it than you’d expect.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

Harry grins as he and Louis step into the main hall. The hall is filled with people, the buzz of conversation, and the rhythmic melodies from the orchestra. They weave through the crowd, nodding politely at other guests until they find an open space in the corner. Harry and Louis accept drinks from a passing footman and survey the spectacle around them.

Louis knows many people at the party, and the first hour passes in a flurry of introductions and polite small talk. It is clear that everyone who greets Louis admires him, and Louis knows all of their names. Harry learns that the MMIC is a triumph among local activist committees, and everyone who speaks with them mentions the good work Louis is doing. Harry feels a swell of pride at seeing Louis praised so worthily. He adds his own voice to the conversation, making sure it is known how much Louis has helped him at Hampton as well.

Eventually, it is just Harry and Louis once again. The dance is in full swing, and Harry’s hands itch to take Louis into his arms, to hold him close and move with him around the room.

The question is on his lips when once again, they are interrupted. But this time, the voice brings an expression of joyful surprise to Louis’ face.

“Louis, how are you?”

“Father!” Louis exclaims, shaking his hand. “How good to see you! I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

Harry looks over the man in front of him. He has long dark hair, longer than is currently fashionable, but it looks well on him. He has round glasses and stands slightly taller than Louis, but shorter than Harry. He beams with genuine joy as he shakes Louis’ hand.

“Yes, it was very last minute,” he replies. “I only arrived back in Manchester yesterday.” His eyes flicker towards Harry. “Excuse me, I don’t mean to be rude.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Mark Tomlinson, Louis’ father.”

“Harry Styles,” Harry replies, shaking Mark’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Harry mentally slaps himself at those words, especially when he sees Mark’s eyebrows lift in surprise.

“Is that so?” Mark asks, looking between the two of them.

Louis laughs quietly before taking Harry’s hand in his. “Yes, he has. Harry and I are courting.”

Mark grins. “Well, that’s splendid! Knowing my son, you must be a wonderful man for him to choose you.”

Harry’s heart swells, and he decides that he likes Mark very much. “That is very kind of you to say. I feel very fortunate that he has chosen me.”

Louis squeezes Harry’s hand, and Harry feels it through his entire body.

Mark smiles at them before looking pointedly at Louis. “Does your mother know?”

Louis snorts, and Harry bites his lip to hide his smile. “Yes, she does,” Louis replies. “She wants Harry to come over for dinner as soon as we can arrange it.”

“Well, I would also like to extend an invitation,” Mark adds.

“Thank you, sir,” Harry says with genuine appreciation.

“It’s my pleasure. How did you two meet?” Mark asks.

Louis chuckles. “We were initially introduced by Mrs. Humphreys at a dinner party, but we came to know one another through my work with the MMIC. Harry is the owner of one of the mills we’re working with.”

“Oh yes, that’s where I know your name,” Mark exclaims. “I thought it was familiar. Harry Styles of Hampton Mills?”

“Yes,” Harry nods.

“One of Manchester’s greatest mills, undoubtedly,” Mark praises. “A tremendous asset to the economy.”

“That’s very kind of you to say.”

“I say it because it’s true.”

“It is true,” Louis joins in. “It’s incredible to go there and witness the production. I’ve never seen such an efficient mill.”

“Well, that’s definitely something coming from you,” Mark chuckles. “I think you’ve studied every mill on both sides of the Atlantic.”

Louis laughs. “Sometimes, it feels that way.”

There is a brief silence. When Mark opens his mouth again, Harry knows exactly what he’s going to say.

“I heard that there’s a strike at Hampton Mills, Mr. Styles,” Mark says carefully. “How is the mill faring?”

“It’s nothing we can’t handle,” Harry replies assuredly. “We will ride out the strike and come back stronger from it.”

Mark nods slowly.

“Harry knows more about the business than anyone I have ever met before,” Louis adds. “He has my every confidence.”

Mark raises his eyebrows curiously at Louis. “I’m surprised to hear you say that, if I’m honest, Louis,” his tone isn’t harsh, simply observatory. “Knowing your political stance, I’d expect you to be on the side of the workers.”

“Yes,” Louis replies. “I do support their cause, but,” he looks up at Harry and smiles, “I also care for a man that is on the other side of the matter. I strive to see his side as well.”

“Very magnanimous,” Mark replies. “That’s what will make you an excellent politician.”

Louis smiles. “Thank you.”

Mark nods. “I will let you both enjoy the dance. I’m sure you don’t wish to spend all evening discussing business and politics.”

“It was wonderful seeing you,” Louis says, kissing his father’s cheek.

“And you,” Mark responds. “Give your mother my best, and I will be in touch with you about dinner.”

“That sounds splendid,” Louis replies.

Harry and Mark shake hands. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Styles. I hope to see you soon.”

“And you, sir,” Harry replies.

Mark smiles at them before disappearing into the crowd.

Harry and Louis stand in silence for a moment before Louis laughs quietly. “Well, that was a surprise. I wasn’t expecting for you to meet one of my parents so soon, but there you are.”

Harry also laughs, squeezing Louis’ hand. “He seems very kind. Did I do alright?”

Louis grins up at him before lifting Harry’s hand to his mouth and placing a kiss on his knuckles. “You did wonderfully.” They grin at one another for a moment, but then Louis tugs on Harry’s hand. “Come on. I want to dance.”

Harry laughs delightedly and lets his omega pull him towards the dance floor.

They fall into one another’s arms easily, naturally. Harry holds Louis close as they begin spinning around the room. He holds Louis’ hand gently, stroking the soft skin with the pad of his thumb. He keeps his right hand splayed across the curve of Louis’ lower back, keeping them pressed together.

Louis tilts his head back to look at Harry, and Harry sees a joyous smile curving Louis’ lips.

“What?” Harry asks, laughter in his voice.

“Nothing,” Louis replies, but his smile doesn’t fall. He ducks his head for a moment, biting his lip. “I like seeing you meet my family. I could tell my father was very impressed with you, as he should be. And I was so happy when you met Lottie. She thought you were very clever.” Louis chuckles lightly. “And very handsome.”

“I really enjoyed talking with Lottie,” Harry replies. “I’d love to get to know her better.”

A gentle, seemingly unconscious sigh falls from Louis’ lips. “Harry,” he breathes quietly, leaning his cheek against Harry’s chest, just above his heartbeat.

Harry rubs his hand against Louis’ back. “What is it?”

Without lifting his face, Louis says, “I keep thinking about you with my family and how the ones who have met you already adore you. I know you and Félicité will get on like a house on fire, and both sets of twins will cling to your every word. My mother will love you, too, and I know you’ll be so good with her.”

“I hope so,” Harry replies earnestly.

Louis lifts his face, a contented smile on his lips. “I know so.” Louis strokes his thumb gently against Harry’s hand, their bodies tucked close. “I think about you with my family, and how much they’re going to love you, and I just know that I’ve chosen the right alpha. That there is no one else out there for me but you.”

Harry exhales shakily at Louis’ words and folds their bodies close together. Harry wishes they were alone, at one of their homes, so that he could plant kisses all over Louis’ face, touch him everywhere and bring him pleasure. Show him how intensely happy those words make him.

In place of those kisses, Harry lets his lips rest against Louis’ temple, a barely there kiss.

“There is no one for me but you,” Harry repeats, voice quiet, but he knows that Louis can hear him.

They continue dancing through two more songs, lost in the music and each other. It is only when the orchestra strikes up a more upbeat song that Harry and Louis untangle themselves.

The other guests form two lines facing one another, ready to participate in the country-style dance.

Louis smirks up at Harry. “May I have this dance?”

Harry grins. “It would be my pleasure.”

The dance is not as intimate as the waltz, but Harry finds it just as enjoyable. He is not as familiar with the steps for this dance, and Louis laughs delightedly every time Harry stumbles or takes a misstep.

When he accidentally bumps into the woman next to him, Harry mutters a quick apology while Louis snickers.

“You dance the waltz so elegantly,” Louis teases. “I never would have thought a simple country dance would be such a challenge for you.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but smiles. “Not all of us have your natural grace.”

Louis snorts. “Please. This is only because of years of lessons.”

There is a short break in the dance, and Harry looks around the room. He notices many people watching the dance, and specifically, many people watching Louis. It’s easy to understand – despite his insistence, Louis does possess a natural grace and elegant footwork that Harry could never hope to obtain even with countless lessons.

“It seems you have everyone’s attention,” Harry observes when he and Louis join together again.

Louis casts a cursory glance around the room, a teasing smirk forming on his lips.

“Does that bother you, alpha?” Louis asks coyly.

They separate, passing around another couple before joining together again.

“You know it does,” Harry replies.

Louis hums. “Even if I danced with every alpha in the room, it wouldn’t change the fact that I’m yours.”

At those words, Harry notices the sweet hint of roses emanating from Louis.

Harry groans, reluctantly breaking away from Louis to complete the dance. They come back together and the orchestra finishes the song with a vibrant chord.

As everyone applauds, Louis steps close to Harry, his lips by his ear. “I’m wet, and it’s only for you. I could dance with any other alpha in this room, but I would only want you.”

“Louis.” The name is ripped out of Harry, deep and feral.

“You don’t know what it does to me seeing you like this,” Louis sighs shakily. His fingertips touch Harry’s wrist, stroking it lightly. The touch makes Harry shiver – the touch just as erotic as the words Louis says. “I’m going to dance with another alpha,” Louis says lowly. “And I want you to watch. I want you to watch me in the arms of someone else, and then I want you to take me home and show me who I belong to.”

Without another word, Louis takes a step back. Harry’s head feels foggy with the smell of roses as if he’s been drugged. Despite his cool tone, Louis is clearly just as affected. His eyes are dark, lips parted. Harry can see a slight tremor in his hands. Then Louis turns and disappears into the crowd.

Harry stares after him, limbs and muscles frozen, unable to move.

He is jarred out of his trance by the jubilant notes of a new song, the dancers forming new lines. Harry steps out of the way quickly, awkwardly, unsure where to go now that Louis has left his side.

When he spots a footman at the edge of the crowd, Harry decides he needs a drink.

He strides quickly to the footman, taking two glasses of champagne. He downs the first one in two gulps, placing the empty glass back on the footman’s tray. The champagne isn’t strong enough to quell Harry’s racing hormones, but it will have to do.

Louis does not appear on the dance floor during this dance, and Harry cannot spot him in the crowd. His whole body is tense as he waits for Louis to appear. He grips his champagne glass tightly, almost wishing it would shatter in his hands, relieve some of the anticipation coiling through his body.

Two songs play through and still no sight of Louis. Harry is sure he’s receiving strange looks from other party goers, unsure why he is so withdrawn and tense. But Harry pays them no mind. As another song plays, Harry knows Louis is playing the game expertly. Harry feels like a spark set to kindling, ready to burst into flames as soon as it catches. He knows this is what Louis wants – to build the anticipation, to drive him crazy.

Louis is a master of his art.

Just when Harry feels like it’s too much, when he feels like he is ready to explode like fireworks on a chilly night in November, he sees him.

Louis breaks through the crowd, his hand resting in the crook of the arm of a well-dressed, tall alpha.

Something primal and animalistic erupts in Harry’s stomach. He wants to stalk across the room, rip the alpha’s hands off Louis, and then cover Louis with his own scent. His most basic instincts roar in his head, refusing to be silent when his omega is dancing with another alpha.

But Harry knows this is the game, so he watches and he waits.

The last dance that Harry and Louis attended, Harry had watched Louis dance with another alpha. At that point, however, Louis was not his. He had no claim to Louis, but watching him with someone else had infuriated Harry nonetheless. It had felt like a challenge, like an insult to the alpha inside of him.

Now that Louis is his, that they are each other’s, the irrational jealousy surges through Harry hot and quick and consuming like lightning. He feels his gaze darken, his eyes never leaving Louis. Seeing his omega in another alpha’s arms feels like a blatant challenge. Harry sees how awkward Louis looks dancing with the alpha, and Harry thinks, “I could hold him better.” Harry sees the polite but practiced smile on Louis’ lips, and Harry thinks, “I could make him laugh until his sides hurt.”

Each thought is irrational and possessive, and normally, Harry would be ashamed of such thoughts. Louis is his own person, and he may dance with whomever he chooses. But that is not what is happening. Louis is dancing with another alpha because he wants Harry to be thinking these thoughts, because he wants to drive Harry as wild as he is.

The waltz draws to a close, and Harry sees Louis take a quick step back as soon as it finishes. Louis applauds and then offers the man his hand to kiss. Harry’s teeth grind and his hands clench at the sight of another person’s lips touching Louis’ skin, even if it is only fleeting.

Harry is ready to cross the dance floor, to take Louis by the hand and drag him back to his house, when he sees another alpha appear before Louis.

This alpha is a petite, blonde woman. For a moment, Harry thinks that it’s Lottie, but Louis’ eyes don’t crinkle in that familiar, affectionate way at the sight of her. Louis accepts the woman’s offer to dance with a demure smile and steps into her arms.

Louis and the alpha stand at the same height, their gazes level with one another. Harry can see the woman speaking to Louis, and Harry wonders what charming things she is saying, trying to entice the omega in her arms.

They spin, following the music, and Louis’ eyes fall on Harry. Their gazes lock across the room, the music and other party goers fading away. Harry holds Louis’ gaze for only a moment, but he sees Louis’ lips twitch into a satisfied smirk. Then he spins again, and Harry can no longer see his expression.

The music returns, the lights bright and sounds ringing. Harry shakes his head, as if jerking awake from a brief sleep.

He looks back at Louis, but Louis is no longer focused on him. Regardless, Harry can see the assured smile on Louis’ face. Louis had known Harry was watching, but he had wanted to see for himself. He knew that he was driving Harry crazy, but he wanted to see it with his own eyes.

Harry will make sure that by the end of the night, Louis knows just how crazy he makes him.

The crowd parts ever so slightly, giving Harry a full view of Louis and his dance partner. At the sight, Harry’s breath catches in his throat.

Being so close by Louis’ side all evening, Harry hadn’t noticed. But now at a distance, Harry can see that Louis’ suit is slightly too small for him. The trousers hug his arse like a second skin, the fabric rippling under the flex of his thighs. But what captures Harry’s attention and steals his breath is the sight of Louis’ ankles.

The trousers are too short, riding up just high enough that Louis’ ankles are exposed.

Absolutely scandalous.

Harry can’t help but glance hastily around the room, making sure no one else is staring at Louis’ exposed skin. Thankfully, no one seems to notice, but Harry can’t seem to look anywhere else. His eyes are drawn to the subtle flash of Louis’ golden skin, the gentle curve of his ankle.

To expose one’s ankles in high society is to hint at the rest of his or her body. To show just the hint of that skin is to draw attention to one’s legs, then one’s thighs, and finally, to one’s crotch. Harry’s eyes follow the same route, eyes raking over Louis’ legs, remembering how they feel wrapped around his waist, strong and warm and perfect.

Harry adores Louis’ ankles, has kissed them countless times. To see them displayed so casually is a clear hint at what else lies beneath Louis’ clothes. The miles and miles of warm skin for Harry to kiss and touch.

Harry’s hands shake, and he can feel his mouth water, desperate to kiss Louis somewhere, anywhere.

The song ends, and the game is finished. Harry has disposed of his champagne glass and crossed the dance floor before the orchestra releases the final chord, the music not yet faded from the hall.

“Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry says from behind Louis. He feels Louis tense up, but he doesn’t turn. “May I have the next dance?”

Harry’s heart pounds as Louis turns slowly. Louis affects a bored expression, but Harry can practically feel him vibrating. Can smell the gentle aroma of roses.

“No,” Louis says, his voice only trembling slightly. “I no longer wish to dance. I wish to go home.”

Harry smiles devilishly. “May I accompany you?” he asks lowly.

Slowly, Louis licks his lips, his eyes darkening. “I insist that you do,” Louis replies, voice raspy with desire.

The alpha in Harry preens in satisfaction as he and Louis hurry off the dance floor. Despite the other alphas that had their hands on Louis tonight, it’s Harry that’s taking him home. Harry will be the one to make love to him tonight, knot him, fill him, bring him pleasure over and over again.

They collect their coats and hats hastily. Harry can feel Louis’ heat beside him, but he doesn’t touch. He knows if he reaches out to touch, he won’t be able to stop. He won’t wait for the carriage to arrive or for them to reach Harry’s home. He will take Louis here and now, just like his body is screaming at him to. He will do so recklessly and with abandon, just desperate to hear his omega’s moans.

After what feels like an eternity, the carriage arrives at the front of the manor. Harry and Louis say rushed thank yous to the butler and to Harry’s driver before stepping into the carriage, slamming the door behind them.

Immediately, Louis is in Harry’s lap, hands fisted in Harry’s hair and mouths mashed together, tongues dancing as intimately as a waltz.

Harry groans, hands reaching down to grasp Louis’ arse. His fingers press into the seam of Louis’ trousers, and he can feel a hint of Louis’ wetness through the fabric. The carriage lurches, rolling along the graveled drive. Louis bounces in Harry’s lap at the abrupt, rocky motion.

“Absolutely filthy,” Harry mutters, voice low and feral. “Getting wet in public where everyone can see you. Just can’t control yourself, can you?”

Louis moans, loud and unashamed. He rocks down into Harry’s lap, and Harry can feel Louis’ hardness brush up against him.

“Dancing in the arms of someone else, but you weren’t wet for them, were you, baby?”

“No,” Louis cries out, biting kisses to Harry’s lips, moaning brokenly.

Harry reaches up and clasps Louis’ chin between his thumb and forefinger. He pulls Louis back just far enough so that he can’t reach his mouth, but can still feel Harry’s wet exhale when he asks, “Who are you wet for?”

He knows, but he needs to hear Louis say it.

“For you,” Louis gasps, lips straining to reach Harry’s. Harry tightens his grip. “Only for you.”

“Only for me,” Harry repeats, releasing his grip on Louis’ chin so that Louis can crash their mouths together again.

Harry takes Louis’ hand in his and drags it down his body. He rests Louis’ hand on his crotch just over his own growing erection. “And this,” Harry murmurs, “is only for you.”

Louis gasps, squeezing Harry’s cock through the layers of fabric.

Harry moans, deep and scratchy as Louis’ hand plunges into Harry’s trousers, taking his cock in hand. The pressure is divine, Louis’ hand skilled and confident as he begins stroking Harry. Harry’s eyes roll into the back of his head. He leans heavily against the seat, just letting the pleasure wash over him.

“And showing everyone your ankles,” Harry grits out. “Just wanted everyone’s eyes on you, didn’t you? Selfish, spoiled thing.”

Louis groans, hand moving faster over Harry’s cock.

“Showing just a bit of skin, making everyone desire you. Making them think about what it would be like to have you, to touch your skin. But they don’t get to, do they, baby? Only me. Only I get to touch you like this.”

“Alpha,” Louis gasps, “I’m so close.”

“Baby,” Harry whispers in awe. His eyes flicker open, and Louis looks positively wrecked. His erection strains against his trousers, and his head is thrown back, lips bitten into his mouth. “Let me touch you,” Harry says gently. “I’ll make you come.”

Louis nods his head frantically. Harry quickly undoes Louis’ belt, freeing his cock from his trousers. Louis’ cock is hard and straining, precome sliding messily down his shaft.

Harry groans at the sight and immediately takes Louis in hand.

Louis gasps, high pitched and breathless, as he spills into Harry’s hand. His body shakes, even more amplified from the uneven rocking of the carriage. His hand goes lax around Harry’s cock as he rides out his orgasm.

“You drive me wild,” Harry murmurs deeply before crushing another kiss to Louis’ slack mouth. Louis whimpers, letting Harry take control of the kiss, happy and willing to accept whatever Harry gives him. “Fucking perfect omega.”

“Alpha,” Louis whines. His hand falls from Harry’s cock, clasping Harry’s hand wrapped loosely around Louis’ own cock.

Without breaking eye contact, Louis brings Harry’s come covered hand to his mouth. His pink tongue darts out, just tasting. Louis moans before pressing his tongue flat against Harry’s palm, licking up the come. Harry watches with dark eyes and bated breath as Louis cleans him, tasting his own come. Louis’ eyes are shut in pleasure, contented noises falling in a symphony from his lips. His tongue leaves wet yet burning trails against Harry’s skin, and he doesn’t stop until every inch of Harry’s hand is clean.

Harry’s heart swells in his chest at the sight of his omega taking such good care of him. As alpha and omega, their biology dictates that they care for one another. It is a basic, primal instinct. As Louis cleans him, Harry feels cared for. He feels his omega’s abounding tenderness towards him in such a simple, innate act.

Louis places one last kiss to the center of Harry’s palm before his eyes blink open hazily.

“Let me taste,” Harry requests, voice nothing more than a rasped murmur.

They meet in an open mouthed kiss, and Harry immediately claims Louis’ tongue. He chases the taste of Louis’ come, the sweet taste of roses overwhelming his senses. Harry groans, deep and feral, plunging his tongue deeper into Louis to taste.

Louis pulls back shakily, breathing heavily. “You make me feel so good, Harry,” he breathes. “Wanna make you feel good.”

“You do,” Harry says immediately.

“Wanna taste you, too.”

With shaky limbs, Louis climbs off Harry’s lap, settling in between his legs. He sways slightly, and Harry’s unsure if it’s because of the incessant rocking of the carriage or because Louis’ limbs feel like jelly.

Louis presses his face against Harry’s crotch. Harry and Louis moan simultaneously, voices blending to create a beautiful harmony. Louis mouths wetly at Harry’s hard length, still tucked into his trousers. Harry groans, hand falling to tangle in Louis’ hair. He doesn’t push Louis, just holds on, touches him to ground himself as he’s lost in the sensations of Louis’ mouth.

Louis pulls Harry’s cock out of his trousers and wraps a fist around it. Harry’s cock is already wet, moisture sliding down the shaft, head bulging from the foreskin.

Delicately, Louis leans forward, letting Harry’s cock smear across his lips. He runs his lips across the head, never opening his mouth, just letting Harry’s precome gather on the seam of his lips.

“Louis, fuck,” Harry groans, cock twitching at the sight of Louis covered in his come.

Louis’ tongue darts out to taste, laving underneath the head. He parts his lips, taking the head into his mouth and beginning to suck.

Harry moans, fist tightening in Louis’ hair as he fights the urge to thrust into Louis’ mouth. The pressure is heavenly – wet and tight. Louis sinks down slowly, still firmly grasping the base of Harry’s cock. When his lips meet his fist, Louis pauses, exhaling harshly out of his nose.

“Baby,” Harry grits out. “Fuck, you feel so amazing.”

Louis moans, the vibrations igniting Harry’s body with even more pleasure. Louis begins to bob his head, tongue teasing. Harry’s groans blend with the carnal, wet sounds of Louis’ mouth sucking on Harry’s cock.

The carriage lurches harshly, and Harry’s hips thrust up involuntarily at the force. Simultaneously, the lurch has Louis falling forward, and Harry feels his cock hit the back of Louis’ throat.

Pleasure rockets through Harry’s body at the feeling, and he feels Louis shake with pleasure as well. But Louis pulls off quickly, sputtering.

“Baby, are you alright?” Harry asks, gathering Louis into his arms and pulling him into his lap. Harry peppers his face with kisses while Louis catches his breath, breathing harshly. “I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to do that. Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Louis responds eventually, voice wrecked and raspy. “God, yes.” His dark, dazed eyes focus on Harry, a teasing smirk forming on his lips. “That felt really good, I just wasn’t expecting it. I’ll just have to practice more, if you’ll let me.”

“Baby, I would love that,” Harry assures him with a relieved laugh, catching Louis’ mouth in a kiss.

They kiss the rest of the journey home, Harry’s cock hanging out of his trousers with Louis perched in his lap. When the carriage stops outside of Harry’s house, they quickly adjust themselves, tucking their cocks back into their trousers and making a half-hearted attempt to smooth their hair.

They hurry inside, Harry muttering a quick thank you to his driver. Louis bounds up the stairs ahead of him, leading the way to Harry’s bedroom.

When Harry reaches his room, it’s to find Louis already on his bed, fingers working quickly on his own clothes.

Harry pauses, shutting the door slowly, watching Louis’ skin being hurriedly revealed. Louis pushes down his trousers, freeing his cock, before his hands begin working on his shirt. Suddenly, Harry knows how this evening is going to play out.

“First,” Harry begins, not even attempting to keep his alpha tone out of his voice, “you dance with another alpha. Now, you deprive me of the pleasure of undressing you myself.”

Louis’ hands pause on the buttons of his shirt. His head jerks up to meet Harry’s gaze. His eyes are wide as if he’s been caught doing something he’s not supposed to do.

“What other ways do you plan on misbehaving tonight?” Harry asks lowly, raising an eyebrow.

Louis whimpers. His hands fall away, legs spreading on the bed. His neck tilts to the side in a seemingly unconscious plea.

“Answer me,” Harry growls.

“I won’t,” Louis whines. “Please, alpha. Let me – let me please you.”

“Do you think it pleased me watching another alpha touch you?” Harry asks, walking slowly towards the bed. His hands tremble so he clasps them behind his back, knotting his fingers together in an effort to still them. Harry pauses at the edge of the bed, so close to Louis but not touching. “How did it make you feel, having someone else hold you?”

“It felt wrong,” Louis replies desperately. “I hated having someone else’s hands on me. Only wanted yours, only ever yours.”

Harry hums, unconvinced. “It didn’t seem that way.”

Louis’ cock twitches against his belly, precome dripping all over his stomach.

“And you’re still desperate for it,” Harry muses, trying to make his tone disapproving when really he just wants to worship Louis’ body. “What will it take to please you?”

“Whatever you want, alpha,” Louis whines, hips canting into the air, his expression wild. “I’m yours.”

Harry considers for a moment as he watches Louis squirm against his bedsheets. Harry’s cock pulses desperately at the sight, and he knows he needs to get his hands on Louis soon or he’ll go out of his mind.

“Finish taking your shirt off,” Harry says.

Louis immediately complies, hastily undoing the remaining buttons and throwing his shirt on the ground. Harry hums with satisfaction as he considers what to do next.

“Turn over,” Harry decides, reaching down to grip Louis’ ankle. Louis gasps at such simple contact, eyes squeezing shut. “You got to taste tonight, now it’s my turn.”

“Yes, alpha,” Louis nods desperately, rolling onto his stomach.

With Louis’ eyes no longer trained on him, Harry lets his stern expression fall as he exhales shakily. His omega is perfect, and Harry is determined to make him feel incredible.

Louis arches his back slightly, placing his full arse on display. Harry feels like he should chastise him for such wantonness, but his mouth is too wet to form words.

Instead, Harry clumsily discards his own clothes, eager to be naked with his omega.

Harry climbs onto the bed behind Louis, resting a hand gently on Louis’ back.

“Look at you,” Harry whispers in awe. “Presenting yourself to me like this because you know you’re mine.”

“Yes,” Louis replies, voice muffled against the duvet.

“And I’m yours,” Harry assures him softly. His hand trails lightly down Louis’ back. He massages both of Louis’ arse cheeks, feeling the firm muscles beneath his palms.

He lets his hands travel down Louis’ thighs, feeling the firm muscle flex in his crouched position. Harry’s hands travel to Louis’ ankles, pressed into the mattress. Harry bends down, ignoring the awkward angle, as he plants a kiss first to Louis’ right ankle, then to his left. His kisses leave behind wet patches against Louis’ skin, and something primal stirs in Harry’s stomach. While others may have seen Louis’ ankles tonight, none of them were able to touch. Now, Louis’ ankles hold his mark, a sign that they are Harry’s.

Harry repositions so that he’s hovering over Louis’ arse once again. He places his hands back on his cheeks, pressing his fingers into the soft skin. He spreads Louis’ arse, watching his pink hole flutter. Slick slides down his crack in a steady trickle, and Harry groans at the sight. With his right thumb, Harry prods gently at Louis’ hole. Louis gasps, hips thrusting down into the bed.

“Going to kiss you here, alright, baby?” Harry murmurs. “Wanna taste you here.”

“Yes, Harry,” Louis gasps, voice wet. “Please, please, please –”

Unable to resist Louis’ litany of pleases, Harry leans forward and presses a kiss to Louis’ wet hole.

He presses gentle kisses to the puckered skin, listening to Louis gasp brokenly. He starts out with soft presses of lips, like when he and Louis exchange kisses just to say hello. Simple, affectionate, unrushed.

Louis’ slick is sweet on his lips, roses surrounding him. He can smell nothing but roses, taste nothing but roses.

His tongue darts out to taste. Louis moans wantonly, and Harry rubs his thumbs gently against his arse, an attempt to comfort him, to ground him.

Harry laves his tongue across Louis’ hole, letting the taste flood his sense. He alternates between quick, kitten licks and pressing the flat of his tongue to Louis’ hole, collecting all of Louis’ slick on his tongue. He sucks on Louis’ rim for the way it makes Louis cry out garbled nonsense. He licks at Louis’ hole until it’s wet and pouting and easy for him to slip his tongue in.

Harry groans as his tongue breaches Louis, the touch so intimate that Harry feels short of breath. He is completely surrounded by Louis, connected in such a private and profound way.

Louis ruts desperately against the mattress, and when he starts to come, Harry feels it first on his tongue. Louis’ hole clenches around him, his whole body shaking as his orgasm explodes out of his body.

Harry gathers Louis up in his arms, pulling Louis into his lap so that their bodies are close together. “Perfect,” Harry breathes, hands stroking over Louis’ face before connecting their mouths in a kiss. Louis melts against him, his hands digging into Harry’s back, holding onto him like it pains him to let go.

“Fuck me, alpha,” Louis slurs into Harry’s mouth.

Harry groans, pressing their foreheads together as he tries to catch his breath.

He fingers Louis open quickly, his body taking two fingers easily, already fairly open from Harry’s tongue. Louis grinds wantonly down on Harry’s fingers as if he wants Harry to fit his whole hand inside of him.

“I feel you everywhere,” Louis breathes. “You’re touching my heart.”

Harry pushes his fingers deeply into Louis, as if the pads of his fingers actually could stroke his beating heart. To feel the blood pumping through it, to feel it whispering Harry’s name.

Once Louis is worked open to three fingers, Harry withdraws his hand and swiftly replaces it with his cock. Louis sinks down onto Harry’s cock slowly, eyes shut in pleasure, until he’s fully seated in Harry’s lap.

While Louis adjusts, Harry keeps his hands on Louis’ face, stroking his cheekbones, brushing the hair out of his eyes, tracing the seam of his lips.

When Louis rolls his hips, a deep, guttural moan shakes out of Harry. Louis braces his hands on Harry’s shoulders, rocking in steady, practiced figure eights.

“You feel amazing,” Harry praises, pressing a kiss to Louis’ lips. They’re breathing too heavily to kiss properly, so Harry just savors each ragged breath Louis exhales against his lips. Harry swallows each one, holds it in his chest.

Harry plants his feet on the bed, changing the angle so that he can rock upwards, meet each of Louis’ slow roll of hips. The change of angle sends a litany of curses and praises falling from Louis’ lips, hands trembling against Harry’s shoulders.

“Right there, baby?” Harry asks, taking hold of Louis’ hips and thrusting upwards quickly, making sure to connect with the same spot every time. Louis swears, his head falling forward to rest against Harry’s chest.

“Yes, right there,” Louis gasps wetly. “Right fucking there.”

Their bodies move together in synchronization, like a perfectly choreographed dance. Their moans blend in flawless harmony, like a finely composed symphony. Their words of adoration hint at the churning emotions in their hearts, like the first sweet taste of what promises to be a delicious meal.

They come together, Harry’s knot locking inside of Louis, Louis shooting across Harry’s chest with only a gentle stroke of Harry’s hand. Their bodies tremble as they try to calm their racing hearts, as they try to even out their heavy breathing.

Harry holds Louis tenderly and kisses Louis’ face. Louis is limp like a ragdoll in his arms, accepting Harry’s kisses with gentle, contented hums.

When Harry’s knot goes down enough to pull out, he does so gently, careful not to disturb the omega in his arms. He lays Louis down on the bed, pulling the duvet over him. Harry climbs out of bed carefully yet with haste, fetching a flannel and wetting it in the washbasin. He walks back over to Louis, cleaning him gently, before he wipes the come and sweat off his own body.

Harry drops the flannel to the floor, pulling Louis into his arms and curling around him. Harry kisses the crown of Louis’ head before tucking his face into the nape of Louis’ neck. He falls asleep with the steady beat of Louis’ heart under his palm.

 

Harry awakens slowly, his mouth open against Louis’ shoulder, his body heavy and stiff with sleep.

He tries not to move too much, doesn’t want to wake up Louis, who still sleeps soundly in his arms. Harry presses a gentle kiss to Louis’ shoulder, the skin cool beneath his lips. He nuzzles into it softly, hoping to warm the parts of Louis’ body exposed to the chill of the room.

As Harry thinks back on the night before, he feels even more reluctant to let Louis go. The way they had both given themselves over to one another so freely, without inhibition or shame makes Harry’s heart swell, makes him hold Louis a bit tighter.

Louis comes awake gradually, shifting minutely in Harry’s arms, dry lips smacking together lazily. His foot drags against Harry’s calf, limbs twisted together.

Harry presses another soft kiss to Louis’ shoulder so that he knows Harry’s also awake. He hears Louis hum in acknowledgement.

“Morning,” Louis says, voice nothing more than a quiet rasp.

Harry presses his nose against the curve of Louis’ neck, inhaling the musky, morning smell of him. “Morning,” Harry replies, rubbing a gentle circle on Louis’ stomach. “How are you feeling?” he asks tentatively.

Louis laughs quietly. He tangles his fingers with Harry’s, bringing Harry’s hand to his mouth to press a soft kiss to it. Then Louis stretches, arms and legs reaching outwards before he rolls onto his side so that he’s facing Harry.

In the soft light of morning, Harry is mesmerized. Louis’ expression is gentle, sleep lines still etched on his face. A contented smile rests on his lips, as if he spent his whole sleep smiling.

“I feel amazing,” Louis sighs, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Better than amazing.” He shifts against the mattress. “Like I can still feel you inside of me. Like I always want to feel this way.”

Harry shakily releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He leans forward, kissing Louis on the eyelids.

“I’m so happy to hear that,” Harry replies. “That was a bit intense last night.”

Louis nods. “It was, but I loved it. That’s what I wanted. For us to lose control with one another.”

“Well, you accomplished your goal,” Harry chuckles.

Louis smiles, his hand resting on Harry’s chest. “I did.”

“And I loved it,” Harry says, just in case Louis doesn’t know.

Louis’ smile widens, clearly glad that Harry told him that. “Yeah?”

“Of course,” Harry insists. “You’re just an absolute dream, Louis.” Harry chuckles disbelievingly. “And I get to call you mine. How did I get so lucky?”

“I feel the same,” Louis agrees. “I think that was why I wanted to do that last night.” Harry is quiet as he waits for Louis to continue. “We’ve been together for a couple of weeks now, but after how long I wanted you, I still can’t believe it sometimes that I get to call you mine. I think last night I just wanted to be taken so completely, and you did that.”

Harry smiles, understanding Louis’ meaning. “I know how you feel. I just look at you sometimes, and I can’t believe you’re mine. And last night when you were dancing with someone else, it was so strange because while it made me jealous, I also knew I had nothing to worry about. That you were doing that for me, for us, so that we could feel connected to one another.”

“Yes, exactly that.” Louis strokes Harry’s jaw.

Harry turns, pressing a kiss to Louis’ palm. “Well, we succeeded. I’ve never felt so closely connected to anyone in my life.”

Louis smiles, but then his eyes flicker away shyly.

“What?” Harry asks, tipping Louis’ chin up so that their eyes meet. “What is it?”

Louis shakes his head. “Just something that crossed my mind, but it’s not the most arousing topic to bring up in bed. We can save it for another time.”

“If it’s on your mind, I’d be happy to talk with you about it,” Harry insists gently. “I don’t care if it’s arousing. We’re just talking.”

Louis sighs, not meeting Harry’s eyes as he collects his thoughts. Harry gives him time, thumb stroking Louis’ hip.

“It’s just something I’ve been wondering for a little while,” Louis begins awkwardly, “but –” He pauses, biting his lip, glancing up at Harry with curiosity in his eyes. “Have you ever been like that with someone else?”

Harry’s brow furrows together. “What?”

“Just like how you got jealous with me last night,” Louis continues in a rush, “it drives me crazy thinking about anyone else having you like this. Thinking about you calling someone else baby or kissing them the way you kiss me. And I know we’ve only known each other for a couple of months so I’m not saying it’s wrong or anything if you had sexual partners before me. I just wanna know…”

Harry cuts Louis off with a soft kiss to his mouth. Louis blinks up at him.

“First off, you don’t have to be worried to ask me things like that,” Harry says, continuing to stroke Louis’ side. “I want you to know me – all parts of me. All you have to do is ask. If it’s something I’m not ready to tell you, I’ll tell you that. But at some point, I’ll be ready. I want you to know everything.”

Louis nods.

“As for past partners,” Harry shakes his head, “I’ve never kissed anyone the way I kiss you. I’ve never called anyone baby, never felt the desire to. I’ve had omegas help me through my ruts, and I’ve courted omegas before who I slept with, but none of them have ever made me feel the way you do. I’ve never called anyone my omega before, never had anyone call me their alpha before.” He cups Louis’ cheek, looks into his eyes. “It’s never felt right before, never would feel right with anyone but you. We’re true mates, remember?”

Louis smiles, eyes momentarily shutting. “Yes, I remember.”

Harry kisses him again, and Louis hums contentedly into the kiss.

“How about you?” Harry asks. “Your past partners?”

Louis shrugs. “I’ve had help through my heats before, but never anyone else.”

“You haven’t?” Harry asks, tone not judgmental, but surprised.

Louis nods. “Like you said, it just didn’t feel right. I never felt strongly enough towards the alphas I’ve courted in the past for me to want to sleep with them.” His fingers tangle in Harry’s hair, his eyes earnest. “I didn’t see any point sleeping with someone I didn’t care for, unless I was in heat and they were helping me.”

“So the first night we slept together,” Harry begins slowly, understanding dawning, “that was the first time you’d made love while you weren’t in heat.”

Slowly, Louis nods.

All strings holding Harry back are cut loose. He gathers Louis up in his arms, presses kiss after kiss to his mouth. “Oh, Louis, _Louis_ ,” he breathes. “I didn’t know, I didn’t know. Was I gentle with you that night?” Harry tries to remember and curses himself when his memories from that night return fuzzy. “Was I good to you?”

“So good, so gentle,” Louis reassures him, petting his hair. “You were everything I wanted, everything I needed that night. Just like I knew you would be.”

“You should have told me,” Harry chastises gently.

Louis shrugs, leaning back enough for Harry to look in his eyes. “I didn’t feel the need to,” he replies simply. “I knew I wanted you, and I wasn’t afraid. The nerves I felt were the best kind, the ones where I knew my life was going to change in an incredible way. And not because I was making love while not in heat for the first time, but because I was with _you_.”

“Louis,” Harry breathes in awe, kissing him again. “I adore you.”

Louis’ breath catches, eyes studying Harry’s face.

Those words are so similar to other words, words that haven’t been spoken yet. But even so, Harry knows those words to be true. He feels them in every part of his body, knows it as assuredly as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west. His heart beats for Louis Tomlinson, his soul belongs to him. They are alpha and omega; they are one.

Time will come to say those words. When Louis smiles gently at him, Harry knows that he understands. He understands, because he feels the same.

“I adore you, too,” Louis replies quietly.

They meet in the middle for a kiss and lie down together in bed, limbs tangled and mouths pressed together and hearts beating as one.

 

The strike does not end that week. The workers stay steadfast in their resolve, as does Harry.

His investors call for a meeting with him at midweek.

A group of surly, middle aged men come to Harry’s office on Wednesday. They make noises of disappointment as they look around the empty mill, clearly unimpressed. Mr. Wellington, Harry’s newest investor who he met at the Humphreys’ party, is the only one who smiles at Harry.

“Hampton has always been one of the most profitable mills in Manchester, and now it’s like a ghost town,” one says.

“What are your plans for ending the strike?” asks another.

“Have you negotiated with the strikers at all?”

“I have not negotiated with the strikers,” Harry speaks up, cutting off their barrage of questions. “Gentlemen, if you please. I am waiting out the strike. The strike is in its second week. I don’t expect it to last much longer.”

“What do you plan to do if the strike doesn’t end soon?”

Harry scratches his chin, the investors watching him with hawk like attention. “I am prepared to bring in Irish immigrants to work. They will be able to get Hampton back up and running.”

“When do you intend to do this? Before or after Hampton goes bankrupt?”

Harry’s eyes narrow in annoyance. He understands his investors’ concern about the strike, but he doesn’t appreciate having his business and financial savvy critiqued.

“I can assure you that Hampton is far from being bankrupt,” Harry replies, voice cool and authoritative. “But I will have you know that I plan to send for the Irish within the next week if things continue without resolution.

The investors seem pleased with this, although not completely satisfied.

“Do whatever you must to end the strike,” one tells Harry as he leaves. “Or I will make sure to withdraw all future investments to Hampton and give them to a more deserving mill.”

Harry doesn’t respond as the man leaves, knowing he will have nothing kind to say.

Mr. Wellington is the last to leave. He had been quiet for the majority of the meeting, nowhere near as forceful or outspoken as the other investors.

“I know Hampton has come upon a rough time,” Mr. Wellington says, “but I want you to know that I am impressed with what you’ve accomplished since I became an investor. Everything you’re doing with the MMIC – it’s truly incredible.”

A wave of gratitude washes over Harry, and he shakes Mr. Wellington’s hand. “Thank you for saying that. I truly do whatever I can to make Hampton as great as it can be.”

“I see that,” Mr. Wellington responds. “Everyone falls on hard times, but with someone as smart as you, I can’t imagine they’ll stay for long.”

Harry smiles. “Is that your opinion as a banker?”

Mr. Wellington laughs. “No, that is my opinion as a person who has seen this happen before.”

Harry nods. “Thank you. May I inquire after your wife? How is she?”

Mr. Wellington lights up, a wide smile spreading across his face. “Elizabeth is wonderful. Her health remains intact, and she is still very committed to her art. We are still a couple of months away from her due date, but I believe our excitement grows every day.”

“I’m so glad to hear that,” Harry answers. “Will you give her my regards?”

“Yes, of course. She will be thrilled. She enjoyed meeting you and your sister very much.”

Harry can’t help but smile, thinking back on the evening when he first met Louis. “Yes, I enjoyed our meeting as well.”

Mr. Wellington nods. “I must be going, Mr. Styles, but I wish you well with the mill in the coming weeks. Remain steadfast; the strike cannot last much longer.”

“Thank you,” Harry replies, shaking Mr. Wellington’s hand.

As Harry watches Mr. Wellington leave, he can’t help but hope that he is right.

 

The meeting with his investors stays on Harry’s mind for the rest of the week. He knows that Hampton is nowhere near financial ruin, but he can’t quiet the unbidden fear in his mind that if things continue in this manner, Hampton will be. Harry has not given his life’s work for that to happen. Hampton will not fall to ruin because of him.

On Friday afternoon, Harry sends his request to the Irish immigration office. New workers will arrive the following week.

No more passivity, no more waiting. Harry has taken action, and Hampton will be back to business as usual.

That evening, Harry dines with the other mill owners. Sebastian and Oliver are also suffering from the workers’ strike, and John and Charles are more than ready to sympathize with their colleagues.

The men sit in the drawing room after dinner, the room filled with hazy cigar smoke. Ice clinks in their glasses as they swirl their whiskey, some of the men on their third drink.

“I didn’t actually expect them to go through with it,” Charles muses while he puffs his cigar. “I thought they were all talk.”

“They were for a long time,” Oliver agrees, sipping his drink. “That’s why I never thought to have any legitimate concern.”

“The strike has only been going on for two weeks,” John says. “Surely the mills haven’t suffered that much in that time.”

Sebastian shrugs. “I’ve been clever enough with finances where I don’t have to worry about the strike affecting me for a little while longer. But it still doesn’t sit well.”

“Well,” Oliver says. “Our mills can last longer than they can with no food. I’m sure they’ll be back and begging for work in the coming week.”

The men chuckle their agreement, the smoke growing thicker.

“How is Hampton doing?” John asks Harry.

Four pairs of eyes turn to him.

Harry sips his whiskey before responding. “I’ve sent a request for Irish workers. They should be here next week.”

“Irish workers?” Charles repeats, shocked.

“Are you sure that’s wise, Harry?” Oliver asks. “If they find out you’re trying to break the strike with Irish immigrants…”

“It’s a risk I take,” Harry replies simply. “Hampton needs to continue to run. If the strikers will not do their jobs, then I will bring in more willing workers.”

“Have you alerted the barracks?” John asks. “In case things turn violent.”

“I will make the necessary arrangements,” Harry says. “I will protect myself and my workers if the need arises.”

The men grunt their agreement, but seem unconvinced.

“They’re like dogs,” Sebastian says. “Just wanting any reason at all to turn violent.”

“Doesn’t take much to provoke them,” Charles agrees.

“God, I’m ready for this strike to end,” Oliver laments. “It’s been a thorn in my side long enough.” He nods at Harry. “You may be on to something. I’ll be curious to see if you’re able to break the strike at Hampton with your Irish workers.”

“At the very least, I think it will make clear my stance that I don’t tolerate unionizing,” Harry replies.

Sebastian snorts. “Well, when you started working with the MMIC, you must admit it sent mixed signals.”

Harry raises an eyebrow, grip on his glass tightening. “Excuse me?”

Sebastian smirks and pours his fourth whiskey, undeterred by the warning in Harry’s tone. “You bring in a group of radicals who start making all these changes at your mill. Of course it challenges your authority. They are in charge now, not you.”

“I can assure you that if any of my workers believed for one second that anyone but me is in charge, they are gravely mistaken,” Harry replies coolly.

Regardless, Sebastian continues, “But you are working with social activist groups that oppose us by their very definition. Of course your workers thought you’d listen if they went on strike. You already showed them that you could be persuaded if a little bit of pressure was put on you.

“And then you started courting the director of the MMIC?” Sebastian chuckles dryly. “All of Hampton must have seen that he is now pulling all the strings. Clearly you must see that he is using you to further his own causes. I doubt that he cares for you at all. Just some tricky, loose omega using you for power over Hampton. And he has it, doesn’t he? You gave it up easily, just like I’m sure he gave himself up to you –”

Harry slams his glass down on the table, standing swiftly to his feet. “Don’t speak of things of which you have no idea,” he growls furiously. “I will not stay here and listen to my personal life spoken of with such ignorance and judgment. I have tolerated a lot from you, Sebastian, but I will not tolerate this.”

Without another word, Harry collects his coat and hat and walks out the door.

His hands shake with rage as he steps out onto the street. The air is cool, the sun having long since set, but it does little to quell his anger. Instead, the hazy streets choke him, the wind fanning the anger that flares through his body.

Harry’s relationship with Sebastian has always been fairly strained. They have never seen eye-to-eye, but they were united in their profession and in their business-mindedness. But the last few times Harry has seen him, Sebastian has made such cruel and judgmental statements about Harry, and he will tolerate it no longer.

When he remembers how Sebastian said that Louis was using him, Harry wants to scream. He wants to drive his fist through a brick wall. He thinks about how open and giving and honest Louis is with him. How could anyone ever believe that that was an act? Harry gives a lot of himself to Louis, but Louis gives a lot of himself right back. They are equals; they are true mates.

And besides, Harry and Louis started courting long after Harry had agreed to partner with the MMIC. If Louis was only courting Harry to use him, then there was no point. His goal would have already been accomplished before they began courting. It would make no sense.

And for the mill, suggesting that Harry was anything but in charge is preposterous. Even with all the times Louis challenges him or disagrees with him, it is still Harry making the final decisions. Harry has rejected Louis’ suggestions before, made tough decisions about the mill’s wellbeing that went against the MMIC’s proposals. He is by no means under the MMIC’s authority. Hampton is still his mill.

It’s unsurprising that Harry finds himself outside of Louis’ townhouse. He had hardly been conscious of his steps, but his feet had led him exactly where he needed to go. Louis isn’t expecting him tonight, and it’s not until after Harry has knocked that he worries he could be intruding. Harry is about to turn to go when the door opens.

“Good evening, Mr. Styles,” the butler greets. “Is Mr. Tomlinson expecting you?”

“He’s not,” Harry replies. “If he’s busy, I don’t wish to disturb him –”

“Harry?”

Harry looks up to see Louis coming down the steps, a smile on his face. Louis’ butler steps out of the way as Louis comes to the door. He takes Harry’s hands in his, kissing him on the cheek. “This is a surprise!” Louis exclaims, sounding pleased. “I thought you had that dinner tonight?”

“I did,” Harry replies.

Louis seems to interpret Harry’s reluctant tone. A flicker of concern crosses his face before he squeezes Harry’s hand. “Come in, and you can tell me all about it.”

Harry steps inside, the door shutting behind him. Louis keeps hold of his hand as he leads him into the drawing room. The candles burn lowly, casting shadows across the furniture, the paintings. The house is quiet, not even the sound of carriages rolling by on the street can be heard.

Harry drops Louis’ hand, crossing over to the window. Manchester is quiet. The street lamps barely illuminate the hazy night sky, casting an eerie glow onto the street. A man walks along the pavement, his hands in his pockets, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Harry wonders who he is. Is he one of the mill workers? His clothes seem cheap and well worn, his posture hunched. Even if he isn’t a mill worker, he certainly isn’t a part of the upper classes. Harry wonders what he’s doing in this neighborhood. Louis’ house is five stories with only the finest furniture and décor. Harry remembers the Paynes’ house. It was one room – the kitchen and bedroom all blended together. They only existed in a singular space.

Harry wonders where the man is going. Is he finished with his day’s work, going home to see his family? Does he have children that are eagerly waiting for their father to come home? Or is he off to the pub, ready to drink away the difficulties of the day? Maybe he has no one to go home to. Maybe all he has are the clothes on his back.

The man reaches the end of the street. He pauses, taking a drag of his cigarette before tossing it to the ground, grinding it into the dirt with his shoe.

Maybe, Harry wonders, he isn’t a poor man at all. Maybe he is the wealthiest man in Manchester out enjoying a walk. He’s not dressed in a suit because the clothes he’s wearing are more comfortable, less restricting. Maybe he’s having a stroll through the neighborhood and will soon retire to his home. Maybe his home is one of the well-lit houses on Louis’ street where the candles burn outside, waiting to welcome home their residents. Maybe the man will have a spouse and children waiting for him at home – children who will jump into his arms as he comes through the door, a spouse who will kiss his cheek and ask about his day.

But what if he is one of the strikers? When he goes home, what will he find? Will his children have eaten that day? Does he have a spouse whose income is able to feed the family, even if they are stretched a bit thin? Or will his family go to bed tonight with empty bellies, unsure where their next meal is going to come from?

Harry watches as the man turns the corner, out of sight. The street is deserted again, and Harry feels the irrational urge to chase after him, to find out who he is.

“Do you think I’m a good man?”

Harry doesn’t turn to look at Louis as he asks the question. He keeps his eyes fixed out the window, as if he’s addressing his reflection.

He hears Louis’ feet shuffle, but Louis doesn’t hesitate when he says, “Yes, of course I do.”

Harry doesn’t respond, unsure of what to say.

“Harry, what brought this on?” Louis asks tentatively yet full of concern. “What happened at dinner tonight?”

Harry sighs, turning around to face Louis. Louis’ eyes are fixed on his face, brow furrowed as he tries to understand.

“They said horrible things,” Harry explains slowly, trying to find the right words. “About the strikers, about the MMIC, about _you_.” Harry’s fists clench as he remembers Sebastian’s heartless words. “And I think to myself, ‘You are better than them. You are not that cold hearted, not that unreasonable.’ But I’m no different than the other mill owners, am I? My workers are striking because they believed they had no other option. They see me just as cruel and heartless as I see Sebastian Fullworth. There is no difference to them. We are the same evil. We are no different.”

Louis doesn’t say anything for a moment, but he never takes his eyes off Harry’s face. “Harry, do you know why I pushed so hard for the MMIC to work with Hampton?”

Harry’s brow furrows, confused by the non sequitur, but he shakes his head anyways. “No, I don’t.”

Louis takes a careful step towards Harry, his eyes filled with compassion. “Because at that dinner, the first night we met, I saw your goodness.” A scoff falls from Harry’s lips before he can help it, but Louis immediately shushes him, taking another step towards him. “Don’t laugh, it’s true. Even when we were sparring and disagreeing, I could see your goodness. I could tell how much you cared about Hampton and your workers. I could tell that you weren’t just some greedy businessman only seeking to make a profit. You were smart, but you were also compassionate. You wanted Hampton to be great not so that you could also be great, but because you are a dedicated perfectionist. Because you wanted to challenge and push yourself to see what amazing things you could do.”

Louis smiles gently. He’s by Harry’s side now, and he takes Harry’s hand in his. “I saw all of this in you, and it was what first attracted me to you. But it also made me think that you’d be willing to listen to me about why improving your mill would be a good thing. That even though it doesn’t produce an immediate profit, that it is better in the long term. I knew you’d be able to see that. I knew you wouldn’t immediately dismiss my ideas, like so many others had, because I knew there was goodness in you.”

Louis lifts Harry’s hand up to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. Harry watches, transfixed. “So yes, Harry. Not only do I believe you are a good man, but I know it to be true. I have witnessed it with my own eyes. I have seen the compassion you have shown the Payne family, the willingness to help. I have seen you strive to do what is right and just within your mill.” Louis reaches up to stroke Harry’s cheekbone. “I have experienced the care and tenderness you show to your omega. Your overwhelming desire to please me, to make me happy.”

Another kiss to Harry’s knuckles. “You are good,” Louis whispers the words into Harry’s skin. “You are so, so good.”

Harry’s heart thuds unevenly in his chest. His eyes are misted with tears, his hands trembling. He reaches for Louis’ face, delicately cupping his cheek.

“Louis Tomlinson,” Harry whispers wetly. “I’m in love with you.”

Louis’ eyes squeeze shut, his lips trembling. When he opens them, tears gather on the corners of his eyes. Harry thumbs at them, wiping them away.

“And I’m in love with you,” Louis replies softly.

Harry lets out a quiet, joyous laugh. Louis grins at him, eyes crinkled with happiness.

“I love you,” Harry whispers again, because he can and because nothing has felt more right.

“I love you,” is Louis’ sweet reply.

They meet in the middle for a kiss, nothing but a cloud of roses and sun and goodness surrounding them.

 

The Irish workers arrive late that Wednesday night.

Seventy-three workers, to be exact, from every corner of Ireland. It’s not enough to return Hampton to the output they were at before the strike, but it is enough to get the mill going again.

It doesn’t take long at all for word to get out.

Hampton’s mill yard is usually a bustling place of activity. People arriving for their shifts, deliveries being prepared to ship out, workers hustling from one end of the mill to the other to deliver supplies. Since the strike began, the mill yard has been silent. Harry crosses it every morning on his way into Hampton, and then the courtyard remains undisturbed until he leaves.

Harry arrives early Thursday morning, a satisfied smirk on his lips knowing that Hampton will be back up and running today. The strike has not defeated him. Harry sees Robertson across the spinning room as the workers slowly file in, and they share a triumphant smile. Back to business as usual.

Unfortunately, that illusion shatters moments later when the door is pushed open roughly, quickened steps racing across the floor.

Harry turns to see Louis, red faced and short of breath, running towards him.

“Harry,” Louis gasps, gesturing for him to follow.

Harry’s stomach plummets. He has a feeling he knows what Louis is going to say.

Harry follows Louis into the hallway, shutting the door behind them.

“The strikers are coming, Harry,” Louis says in a rush. “They’ve heard about the Irish workers, and they’re furious. They’re on their way in a mob. I heard them say they may try to overrun the mill.”

“Fuck,” Harry swears. “When did you hear this?”

“Barely ten minutes ago,” Louis replies. “I was at the pub having breakfast and I heard a group of them talking. I ran straight here, just as they were leaving to go gather more strikers.”

“Fuck,” Harry repeats, mind racing as he tries to figure out what to do. “Alright, you get the workers into the top room and keep them there. I’m going to find Robertson and tell him to send for the soldiers.”

Louis nods before disappearing into the spinning room. Harry follows, walking straight over to Robertson.

“A mob is coming,” Harry tells Robertson lowly, trying to keep his voice even. “I need you to go alert the soldiers. Go the back way; make sure no one sees you.”

Once Robertson is gone, Harry turns to survey the spinning room. The workers are following Louis swiftly towards the back staircase, up towards the top room. Harry hurries to his office, quickly making sure all valuables and important documents are in his safe. With a lurching in his stomach, Harry reminds himself that the safe is fireproof, so it should remain undamaged no matter what the mob brings with them.

Satisfied everything is safe, Harry returns to the spinning room. Louis meets him there, striding across the room quickly.

“The workers are in the top room,” Louis replies. “They’ve agreed to stay there until the mob is gone.”

“Good,” Harry says. “Robertson is going to get the soldiers. Everything should be fine once they arrive.”

“Harry,” Louis says urgently. “Surely violence isn’t the answer.”

“They threaten the wellbeing of my mill, the safety of my workers,” Harry reaches down to clasp Louis’ arms, desperate for him to see reason, “and the man I love. I will do whatever I need to keep you safe.”

Louis opens his mouth to respond, but stops abruptly.

The sound of footsteps and raised voices permeates the walls of Hampton. The sounds are unsettling and angry. The mob has arrived.

Harry and Louis hurry up to Harry’s office to the window that overlooks the mill yard.

The gate for the mill is locked, but Harry can see the mob in the street, banging viciously against the wooden gate, trying to get into the yard. He can’t distinguish their yells, but he hears their anger. Harry reaches instinctively for Louis.

“I wish you weren’t here in this moment,” Harry confesses. As worried as he is for his mill and his workers, for Louis’ safety to be jeopardized, that is what he fears the most.

However, Louis shows himself to possess greater strength or bravery than Harry could ever imagine. Louis grips Harry’s hand in his, their eyes meeting. Louis’ gaze does not hold fear, but determination. “There is nowhere else I would rather be than here at your side in this moment.”

Harry sighs, fear for Louis and love of his bravery swarming in his head, making his chest feel tight and breath come short.

He leans forward and presses a firm kiss to Louis’ mouth. Harry hopes Louis can feel how much he loves him, how he always wants him by his side, but how he’d go crazy if anything ever happened to him.

Their kiss is broken apart by the sound of the gate giving way under the mobs’ vehement force. The mob spills into the mill yard, shouting and swearing, uncontrolled and reckless.

The mob is like a rushing wave breaking through a dam. They fill the yard, bodies packing together tightly into the cramped space. Their yells and cries are disjointed, incoherent. They look up towards the mill, and when they see Harry standing in the window, direct their yells towards him.

“Get the Irish out!” Harry hears one person demand.

“We’ve got families to feed!” another cries.

“Bastards!”

Harry watches them yell like an unprovoked set of animals. He wants to feel disgust towards them, but instead, he feels sadness. Sadness that they have been reduced to this.

At the front of the mob, Harry sees Niall Horan. He stands with the crowd, leading the chants, fearless and determined.

“Let them yell,” Harry tells Louis. “If that is all they can do, we can withstand it.”

Harry is unsurprised when Louis shakes his head. “You must try to pacify them.”

“I can do nothing,” Harry returns. “The soldiers will be here soon. They will pacify them.”

“With clubs and horses,” Louis protests. “Not with reason.”

“They are past reason,” Harry says darkly, watching the mob.

“I refuse to believe that,” Louis replies fiercely. Harry turns to look at him, and sees unmovable determination in Louis’ eyes. “Go down and speak with them. Speak to them as if they were human beings.” Louis gestures towards the mob. “They are driven mad by hunger. Their children are starving. But they are not mad dogs – they are humans, just like yourself.”

Harry studies Louis’ steadfast expression. Abruptly, Harry remembers the man he saw walking the night before. Harry wonders if he ever made it home. Harry wonders if he’s eaten since then, if his children have. He wonders if he’s in this mob now, hungry and angry. If he’s here for his children, so that they can eat. If the man believes that he is doing what’s right, if he believes he’s helping his family.

Harry has resisted Louis’ arguments before, decided that he himself, not Louis, knew what was best. But in this moment, with the mob biting at their heels, Harry knows that Louis is right.

“Stay here,” Harry says, and without another word, walks swiftly down the steps.

Harry doesn’t hesitate as he walks to the front door, opening it with confidence and without fear. As he steps out onto the front stairs, the mob’s intensity amplifies. Their cries become louder, fiercer. Their rage becomes a storm, dark and swirling and directed right at Harry.

Harry watches them with an unamused expression on his face, his arms crossed. “Go home,” he says, voice loud and clear. He does not wish to yell, does not want to sink to their levels of disorder. His voice is swallowed in the mob’s jeering, but Harry repeats, “Go home. You will accomplish nothing this way.”

“Get the Irish out!” the mob cries, ignoring him.

“In God’s name, stop!”

Harry turns at the new voice, Louis walking confidently out the door to stand by Harry’s side.

“Stop!” Louis repeats. The mob quiets at the sight of Louis, a confused murmur running through them. “Think about what you are doing,” Louis insists, tone urgent but unafraid. “He is one man, and you are many. You will not accomplish anything this way. Go home. The soldiers are coming.”

“Fucking traitor!” someone in the crowd yells. “You were on our side.”

“I am on no side. I only want peace,” Louis replies, but the crowd’s angry cries only grow.

The mob will not be placated; Harry grabs Louis’ arm. “Go inside,” Harry orders. His voice is low, his alpha tone seeping into his voice, and he doesn’t try to stop it.

“I’m not leaving you,” Louis replies, just as determined as Harry.

But this time, Harry is not going to argue. He grasps Louis’ arms tightly. “Go inside, or I’ll take you inside myself!”

Louis resists, only for a moment, but that is enough. Harry doesn’t see the object flying towards them. If he did, he would have shielded Louis, would have done anything to protect him.

All Harry knows is that one moment, Louis is unmovable. The next, something flies through the air and Louis crumples in his arms.

All the air rushes out of Harry’s body as Louis sags against him, no longer able to hold his own weight. Harry’s knees buckle as Louis falls against him, and Harry lowers him to the ground as carefully as he can.

“Louis?” Harry gasps urgently. For the first time that day, Harry is afraid. He feels blind with panic as Louis lies unmoving on the ground, a gash across his temple, blood oozing down the side, streaking his hair. A rock lies next to him, small and blunt.

Harry hardly notices as the mob quiets, the blood thundering in his ears drowning out all other noise.

“Louis?” Harry asks again, voice trembling with fear. His hands hover shakily over Louis’ head, knowing he shouldn’t touch, but wanting to do something. He can see the gentle rise and fall of Louis’ chest, but his eyes remain closed, his body limp.

“Louis?” Harry touches Louis’ arm gently, hoping to rouse him, but not wanting to do further harm.

Suddenly, the sharp sound of whistles and horses’ hooves cut through the silent mill yard. The soldiers spill into the yard on horseback, brave and fearless. The mob scatters, fleeing in every direction, trying to dodge the blows from the soldiers’ clubs. Cries rise from the fleeing mob, the mill yard turning to chaos as they try to escape.

Harry ignores the pandemonium around him. He scoops Louis into his arms, minding his head as carefully as possible. Robertson appears at the door, and Harry doesn’t have time to reprimand his cowardice.

“Go fetch a doctor!” Harry demands harshly. “Now!”

Robertson does not hesitate, running across the mill yard, escaping with the disarrayed mob.

“You’re going to be alright,” Harry tells Louis, limp in his arms. Harry holds Louis close to him, cradling him to his chest. He pushes the door open with his back and steps inside, away from the chaos of the mill yard and into the quiet of the mill. “You’re going to be alright.”

 


	4. Chapter Four

Papers fly off Harry’s desk as he shoves them roughly to the side. He lays Louis’ limp body across the desk and sits at the opposite end to cradle Louis’ head in his lap. Blood trickles messily down Louis’ cheek. Harry can’t tell how deep the gash is, which only makes his heart beat faster. He hastily removes his jacket and then carefully presses the fabric against Louis’ temple. Harry wipes up the blood the best he can, applying gentle pressure to the wound.

“My foolish, brave omega,” Harry whispers, throat thick. He strokes Louis’ cheek with his other hand.

Harry sees the flutter of Louis’ eyelashes the moment he begins to awaken. His eyes come open slowly, unseeing, before they focus on Harry. Harry breathes a wet sigh of relief.

“You’re alright, my darling,” Harry assures him, his voice wavering with emotion. “Robertson has gone to get the doctor. Just rest. You’re alright.”

Louis makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat, his eyes closing. With his left hand, Louis reaches up to tangle his fingers with Harry’s hand not tending to the cut. Harry grasps Louis’ hand, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze as if to say, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

They sit quietly, Louis breathing evenly, until the door opens abruptly and Robertson and Dr. Clark enter the room.

“Robertson, go get some water,” Harry orders as Dr. Clark walks over to them.

“Can you sit up?” Dr. Clark asks Louis.

Harry helps Louis slowly sit up, letting Louis lean against him for support. Dr. Clark takes Louis’ face in his hands, examining his eyes and the wound. He looks from side to side, a concentrated look on his brow.

“How do you feel?” Dr. Clark asks.

“A bit dizzy,” Louis says, and Harry holds him closer, taking more of his weight. “My head hurts.”

Dr. Clark nods, continuing to examine Louis closely.

“It looks worse than it is,” Dr. Clark determines, and Harry exhales in relief. He gives Louis’ hand, still grasped in his, another gentle squeeze.

Robertson returns to the office with a glass of water, and Harry helps Louis drink.

“You don’t have a concussion, which is a relief, but you have still suffered a minor head trauma. You need to rest,” Dr. Clark tells Louis. He cleans up the wound, wiping away the remaining blood.

“Let me take you home, Louis,” Harry insists quietly. “You will rest better there.”

Dr. Clark nods. “That would be best.”

“Would you like me to send for your carriage?” Robertson asks.

Harry looks gratefully at Robertson. “Yes, please.”

“Rest the next few days,” Dr. Clark instructs. “No strenuous work or heavy lifting. If the wound doesn’t heal in a week’s time, let me know.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Harry says, genuine gratitude in his voice.

“Of course, Mr. Styles,” Dr. Clark replies before taking his leave.

Harry holds Louis quietly in his arms until the carriage arrives.

“Do you want me to carry you?” Harry asks with concern.

Louis flashes him a bemused smile. “I think I can walk.”

Still, Harry lets Louis lean on him as they walk down the stairs and get into the carriage. Harry holds Louis close, keeping a hand on him at all times. He is unwilling to let him go, unwilling to allow any space between them at all.

Louis’ staff makes an appropriate fuss over him as soon as Harry and Louis arrive. Harry quickly explains to the butler what had happened as the footmen help Louis up the stairs.

“We will take good care of him, sir,” Louis’ butler assures him.

Harry smiles at the staff’s evident love for Louis. “Thank you.”

When Harry joins Louis upstairs, Harry finds him propped against his pillows, a sleepy but amused expression on his face.

“You would think I just returned home from war,” Louis quips as Harry shuts the door.

Harry doesn’t say anything, crossing the room. He sits down on the bed at Louis’ side, taking Louis’ hand in his.

“I was so frightened,” Harry admits quietly, thumb rubbing gently across Louis’ palm. “You took the blow that was supposed to be for me.” Harry squeezes his eyes shut, knowing he would take a thousand blows for the man beside him. “You should have gone inside. Then no one could have hurt you.”

Louis is quiet for a moment. “I wasn’t going to let you face the mob alone,” Louis says, voice soft but certain. “I wasn’t going to hide away when I could stand by your side.”

“Their anger was directed at me, not you, yet you were still the one hurt by their protest.” Harry can’t keep the heartbreak out of his words. The overwhelming hurt he feels that Louis took a blow meant for him. That Louis lies there bleeding, when it should be Harry.

Louis must see this pain across Harry’s face, and when he speaks, his voice is calming, comforting. “Harry, look at me.” Harry does so reluctantly. He finds kindness in Louis’ expression, but also, that instinctual determination that Louis wears like a second skin. “We are partners, you and me. Equals. If someone is threatening you, I am going to be by your side. Just as I know that if someone was threatening me, you would be by my side.” Louis squeezes Harry’s hand. “We are in this together.”

Harry nods, but his voice is thick as he says, “I just hate to see you hurt. I would rather it be me.”

“And I would rather it be me,” Louis replies. He smiles softly at Harry. “But I suppose that’s a part of love, isn’t it? Willing to take the hurt so that the one you love doesn’t have to.”

“Yes,” Harry says, kissing Louis’ knuckles. “Yes, that’s love.”

 

Harry stays by Louis’ side as he recovers.

Dr. Clark was right that the wound was minor, thankfully only a superficial cut in the end. After a deep, restful sleep, Louis is up and moving around like normal, itching to get back to work. But he humors Harry, lets Harry fuss over him. Harry cleans the wound every evening before they retire, brings him breakfast in bed in the mornings. Louis always gives a private smile, one reserved just for Harry, as he fusses over him. As he cares for his omega.

Louis returns to the MMIC offices on Monday, the wound on his temple closed up and healing well. Harry kisses him on the doorstep as they both leave for the day, and Harry assures Louis that he’ll stop by that evening.

Louis smirks at him. “Just when I thought I was finally rid of you.”

Harry laughs, kissing Louis again. “You’re never getting rid of me, Tomlinson. That’s part of the whole true mates thing.”

Louis snickers against Harry’s mouth. “And here I was thinking that it just meant I get to have regular sex.”

As Harry arrives at Hampton, he can’t help but shudder as he walks through the mill yard. The memories from only a few days ago return to him in force. He feels like he can still hear the angry cries of the mob. As if he can still feel the sheer terror as Louis fell, wounded.

Harry pauses on the steps, half expecting to see them smeared with blood. There is nothing of the sort; not even a sign of the stone that fell Louis. Harry feels a confusing and surprising sense of disappointment, almost wishing it had been there. He would have taken the stone to the riverbanks and sentenced it to drown in the grey, murky waters.

He pushes those thoughts away and steps inside.

As he enters the mill, it’s to the sound of the rhythmic whirring of the spinning mules. It’s a sound Harry hasn’t heard in weeks, and it is as familiar and comforting to him as an old, trusted friend. He pauses at the doorway and smiles before walking down the hallway to the spinning room.

The first thing Harry sees as he walks into the spinning room is snow.

Cotton fluff fills the spinning room, drifting up into the rafters, coating the floors. The great wheels, which hover above the room on the east and west walls are silent but ready to be turned on at any moment.

The workers have returned, and Harry watches them tend to their duties as if they had never left.

The strike is over.

Even though Harry had received word that the strike had ended, he had almost not believed it until this very moment, when he can see Hampton running again with his own eyes. He feels inexplicable pride but also relief, knowing that all will be well again.

Harry spots Robertson and walks over to his side. The two men share a smile.

“It’s good to see Hampton up and running again,” Robertson says.

Harry nods as he looks around the room. “It is. What brought them back?”

“They lost their spirit after the violence last week. It was supposed to be a peaceful strike, and as soon as someone was hurt, it was all over for them.” Robertson casts him a concerned look. “How is Mr. Tomlinson?”

“He is well,” Harry replies. “It would take more than that to keep him down.”

Robertson laughs quietly. “Sounds like Mr. Tomlinson. Will you send him my regards?”

Harry smiles. He remembers when Louis first began coming to Hampton, Robertson was vocal against the MMIC’s involvement. But now, having met and worked with Louis, it seems that Robertson, like everyone else, can’t help but admire Louis.

“Yes,” Harry responds. “I will.”

“Good,” Robertson says. “Some of the Irish have stayed on, some have gone back. Not all the strikers returned to work, so the positions have pretty much balanced out.”

“That’s good to hear. Can you get the numbers to me by the end of the day? I’ll need to see if we have any remaining positions to fill.”

“Yes, sir.”

With a friendly clap to Robertson’s shoulder, Harry returns to his office.

He works until the lunch bell, but Harry pays it no mind. It’s not until he hears a hesitant knock on his door that he puts down his quill.

“Come in,” Harry calls.

The door opens, and Niall Horan steps inside. “Do you have a moment, sir?”

Harry’s fists clench, his teeth grinding together. “You have some nerve showing up here.”

Instead of protesting, Niall looks apologetic. “I wanted to apologize for what happened. We never intended for things to become violent. We only wanted to peacefully protest –”

“Well, that didn’t happen, did it?” Harry snaps. “Thanks to your protest, Louis Tomlinson was gravely hurt.” It’s an exaggeration, but Harry doesn’t care. “A man who has shown nothing but support and kindness to you.”

“The man who threw the rock – we chased him out of town,” Niall says quickly. “It was one man who made that decision to act violently, not all of us. We just wanted our voices heard.”

“Well, your point was made, and the strike broke because of it.”

“The strike broke because, despite what you seem to believe, we are not animals. We never wanted to hurt anyone, especially not Louis.”

“You did hurt him though,” Harry returns harshly.

“Which was never our intention.”

“Your intention is irrelevant. It happened anyways.”

“For which I am truly sorry,” Niall insists.

“It is not from me whom you should ask forgiveness.”

“But I ask it of you regardless.”

Harry’s eyes narrow, but Niall does not stand down. Harry remembers the afternoon where they dined together. They had been equals in that moment, two people eating and talking and learning about the other. How foolish Harry had been to think they would ever possess anything other than differences.

“I do not give it,” Harry replies, voice firm, angry. “The man I love was injured at the hands of your mob. He bled because of your violence. I don’t care that it was one individual who hurt him; I damn all of you. Now, get out.”

Niall hesitates, seeming to want to protest more, but Harry levels him with a gaze that convinces him otherwise. Niall nods and without another word, leaves.

 

“Niall Horan came by my office today,” Harry says.

Louis shifts from where he’s leaning against Harry. They’re pressed together in bed, Louis’ back to Harry’s chest, their fingers intertwined.

“Did he?” Louis asks curiously. “What did he say?”

“He wanted to ask for my forgiveness,” Harry says, scoffing at the ridiculousness. “He told me they ran the man who threw the stone out of town. Said they never wanted things to grow violent.”

“And what did you say?”

“I said no. No, he didn’t have my forgiveness.”

Louis turns in his arms, a puzzled expression on his face. “And why did you say that?” His voice is quiet, seeking to understand without judgment.

Harry mirrors Louis’ puzzled expression. “Because of his mob’s violence, you were hurt. I had to carry you inside, I had to clean up your blood. You think I’m going to forgive something like that?”

Louis doesn’t answer for a moment, but when he does, his tone is gentle. “And how do you think this is any different than Liam Payne forgiving you?”

Harry blanches. “What?”

Louis reaches up to touch Harry’s face, stroking his cheek. “Christine Payne was brutally injured while working at Hampton. She was injured infinitely more severely than I was. But when you went to ask the Paynes for forgiveness, they forgave you. Liam put aside his anger and his sadness and saw that, even though his wife’s accident happened at Hampton, that it was not your fault. Yes, I was injured by the mob, but it was not Niall who cast the stone. And just as you sought to repair Hampton after Mrs. Payne’s injury so that nothing like that would ever happen again, it sounds like Niall is doing the same. They drove the man who threw the stone out of town, because they do not tolerate or condone that kind of violence. Niall fixed the problem, and then sought forgiveness. It sounds like exactly what happened with you and the Paynes.”

Harry does not – cannot – answer. He just stares at Louis, eyes wide and lips parted, stunned into silence.

“My love,” Louis says softly, reaching up to touch Harry’s cheek. “I love you, and I know you want to take care of me. I know your instincts tell you to protect me, and that you feel like you failed in that matter. But please believe me when I say that you didn’t. You care for me, better than I could ever hope to be cared for. Maybe you don’t want to hear this, but I forgive Niall, and the rest of the strikers. Even the man who threw the stone. I don’t want you to hold onto this anger either.”

Harry stares at Louis in awe; at the earnestness in his eyes, the peaceful expression on his face. Harry doesn’t understand how Louis can forgive so easily, but he wants to try.

“I will try,” Harry tells Louis. “I will try.”

“That’s all I ask,” Louis whispers, pressing a soft kiss to Harry’s mouth.

“You are good,” Harry murmurs against Louis’ lips, voice filled with amazement. “How are you so good?”

Louis smiles, stroking Harry’s cheek. “You make me want to be the best version of myself.”

Once again, Harry is lost for words. All he can do is press his mouth to Louis’, and tell him with kisses how happy he is that they have found one another.

 

Work at Hampton eventually returns to how it was before the strike.

Production is back up, reaching the same numbers they did before the strike. The few empty positions have been filled. The MMIC returns to Hampton and begins work installing fences around the spinning mules. Harry’s investors have been placated, and no one has withdrawn their funds.

As Hampton settles back into a rhythm, Harry feels himself also settle. The tension and worry and self-doubt that became a constant companion during the strike leave him. He is able to breathe again without feeling like each breath is a jagged gasp for air. His mill is thriving once again, and Harry experiences happiness that he hasn’t ever felt before.

That happiness, however, is significantly due to Louis.

Harry constantly craves time with Louis, no matter what they are doing. Some evenings they just exist together, doing different things but being together while doing so. Other evenings they talk and laugh until their voices are worn out, no longer able to form sentences.

They spend time by themselves, but also with others. Harry and Louis dine with Mark Tomlinson and Louis’ two oldest sisters, Lottie and Félicité. Harry enjoys seeing Lottie again, who smugly tells him that even when they met before, she could tell how infatuated Harry was with her brother. Harry doesn’t deny it.

Félicité proves to be just as smart and interesting as Louis described. Like her brother, she takes an interest in mill work, and doesn’t hesitate to ask Harry questions about Hampton. Harry doesn’t mind in the slightest, feeling almost as if he’s back at the Humphreys’ dinner party, being challenged relentlessly by his dinner companion. Harry and Louis exchange a smile as Félicité discusses workers’ rights, and Harry knows they’re thinking the same thing.

Harry and Louis have fallen into one another easily. They don’t spend every day together, but they make the effort to see each other several times a week. Harry starts to miss Louis too much if they go more than a few days without seeing one another, and that’s usually when he’ll show up at Louis’ house just so that they can fall asleep together.

Harry knows they’re probably being a bit ridiculous, but he is newly in love, and can’t find it in himself to care.

However, two days apart seem like nothing when Louis announces that at the beginning of August he will have go to London for two weeks.

“But do you have to go?” Harry asks, halfway hanging off of Louis’ bed while he packs a suitcase.

“Yes,” Louis says, probably for the fifteenth time. He folds a shirt and places it inside his bag.

“But why?” Harry asks, uncaring that he sounds like a petulant child.

“Because my father is ill and unable to travel to London to vote on the new bill in Parliament,” Louis explains patiently. Harry has heard this explanation about as many times as he’s tried to convince Louis to stay, but he remains unconvinced.

“Can’t you just send your vote in by post?” Harry suggests.

Louis laughs. “They’d throw it into the Thames.”

Harry snorts, and decides that using logic isn’t the best way to convince Louis to stay. So instead, he sits up and crawls over to Louis’ suitcase.

Louis raises an eyebrow at him, clearly suspicious.

“I’ll miss you,” Harry says quietly, reaching up to touch Louis’ neck.

Louis’ expression softens. “I’ll miss you, too.”

They kiss softly, as if trying to hold onto this moment before Louis must leave in the morning. Harry presses a gentle kiss to Louis’ mouth, his hands falling away. Then, while they continue to kiss, Harry reaches into Louis’ suitcase, grabs his neatly packed clothes, and begins throwing them across the room.

Louis breaks the kiss with a horrified gasp, eyes wide as Harry scatters the items in Louis’ suitcase.

“You shit!” Louis exclaims, reaching for Harry’s hands, trying to stop him. He grabs ahold of Harry’s wrists, trying to pin them to his side. Harry fights against him, continuing to reach for the clothes to throw them across the room. Louis lunges at him, toppling them both over on the bed, wrestling and playfully fighting. Harry is able to break Louis’ grip and rolls him over so that Harry settles on top.

Harry’s chest rises and falls rapidly with breathless laughter, and he sees the same joy reflected in Louis’ eyes.

They meet in the middle for a kiss, smiles pressed together.

Louis spends the rest of the afternoon lounging on the bed while Harry goes around the room, collecting the discarded clothes, refolding, and repacking them.

Louis watches with an amused smirk, and Harry can’t help but think how much he’s going to miss him.

 

Candlelight casts flickering shadows across the desk in Harry’s bedroom, dancing across his paper.

A folded letter lies on his desk, and Harry repeatedly pauses in his writing to reread excerpts from the letter to think about how to respond.

A letter from his mother, Anne, had arrived that afternoon. It had been several weeks since their last correspondence, and Harry finds himself missing her greatly as he reads over her words. She writes to him about her gardening and a recent visit from Gemma and Isobel. With her unwavering maternal care, she also expresses how glad she is that the strike did not last very long. Anne is one of the few people who understand how important the mill is to Harry, so he knows her words are genuine.

Harry writes back with equal warmth and fondness, expressing how happy he is that she is enjoying her garden and how much he wishes he could have visited when Gemma and Isobel did. He tells Anne about how Louis is in London, but as soon as he gets back, they will arrange a date to come visit her. Harry knows how much that will mean to her.

Harry is almost finished with his letter when there is a knock on the door.

“Come in,” he calls, quill still scratching against the paper.

“Good evening, sir,” Harry hears Jones greet. “There was a delivery for you.”

“A delivery?” Harry asks, looking up. He’s not expecting anything. But as he turns in his chair to see what Jones is holding, all air rushes out of Harry’s body.

In his arms, Jones holds a bouquet of roses.

Harry rushes to Jones, taking them from him, cradling them in his arms like a child. “Thank you so much, Jones,” Harry says earnestly. “Could you please fill up a vase with water and bring it here?”

“Yes, sir,” Jones replies and slips out the door.

Harry presses his face into the bouquet, inhaling deeply. Immediately, he’s flooded with the roses’ aroma, powerful and intoxicating and so, so sweet. As Harry breathes in the scent, he can almost imagine that it’s Louis in his arms. That the scent that has become so familiar to him is not coming from the flowers, but from the man he loves.

It’s only been a couple of days since Louis left for London, but Harry misses him like a physical ache. He misses his laughter and his relentless teasing and the random kisses Louis loves to press to Harry’s hands.

The night before Louis left, they’d spent the evening tangled up in one another, sharing every breath. They had made love slowly and reverently, whispering words of love over and over again. They had left kisses all over one another’s bodies, hoping that they’d still be able to feel one another during their time apart. Harry’s hand falls to his collarbone, where Louis had left a bruise. Even with a light press of fingertips, the bruise throbs dully, reminding Harry of the shape of Louis’ mouth, the ferocity of his kisses, the determined nip of his teeth.

Jones brings in a vase and leaves, and Harry places the roses in the water. He arranges the bouquet so that all the roses are visible, and his eyes fall to a note tied to one of the stems that he hadn’t noticed before.

Harry quickly unties the note from the stem, opening the folded paper.

His heart thuds in his chest at the sight of Louis’ elegant handwriting, letters running together.

_My darling Harry,_

_These roses are for if you miss me half as much as I miss you. Keep them in your room, and when you look at them, think of me._

_I love you and will return to you soon._

_Yours,_

_Louis_

Harry traces the words with his finger, following the gentle slope of each a, the swish of each y. His finger hovers over his name, Harry, and Harry doesn’t think he’s ever seen it written so beautifully, or with such affection. He traces Louis’ name, the name that has become as sweet as honey to him.

Harry presses the letter to him mouth, kissing the words that came from Louis’ hand.

It could be from the roses now sitting by Harry’s bedside, but Harry swears he can smell Louis’ scent on the paper. The scent of roses, even stronger than the actual flowers in the room, because the scent on the letter is actually from Louis.

That night, Harry falls asleep with the roses next to his bed and Louis’ letter tucked under his pillow.

 

Harry doesn’t know how, but the two weeks pass.

It’s Tuesday evening and Louis is expected on the noon train the following day. Harry plans to pick him up from London Road Station, take him home, and make sure neither of them leaves the bed until Harry’s knotted him at least thrice.

But just as he is preparing for bed, a note arrives for him.

_Harry,_

_My darling, I am afraid our reunion must be delayed. My aunt Agatha has had an accident and I must go to Hilltop Manor to check on her. From what I understand, she is not gravely hurt, but I wish to see her and make sure she is alright._

_I miss you greatly, of course, and am deeply sorry that I will not see you as soon as I hoped. If you are available, you would be welcome to visit Hilltop. Even though we wouldn’t be able to spend much time together, I would love to see you._

_Regardless, I will see you soon. I ache to be back in your arms._

_All my love,_

_Louis_

Harry can’t help but feel a surge of disappointment. He hopes that Mrs. Henderson is well and is thankful that she is not hurt seriously, but he is nonetheless disappointed that he won’t have Louis to himself for the next couple of days.

He reads back over the letter, this one written more hastily than the last. Louis has invited him to come to Hilltop, and Harry knows Louis well enough to know that it is a genuine offer. Louis misses him, wants to see him as desperately as Harry does.

His workload isn’t too much for the rest of the week. It probably would be no problem at all if he left Hampton one afternoon and journeyed into the countryside to Hilltop.

Harry resolves to go on Thursday, which will give Louis time to arrive at his aunt’s the day before and spend some time with her before Harry arrives. Harry tells himself that it’s only for one extra day when he’s already waited two weeks. It will be worth it to have Louis in his arms again.

Harry leans over to his bedside table, gently inhaling the scent of the roses. He has taken very good care of them the past two weeks, and the petals are still bright red and healthy.

Louis will be with him again soon, and he’ll no longer need the poor imitation of the rose petals to capture the essence of Louis’ scent. He’ll have Louis in his arms again, real and warm against him.

 

Harry has hardly made it up the steps in front of Hilltop Manor before the door swings open and Louis rushes outside.

“Harry!” Louis exclaims, and Harry has just enough time to open his arms before Louis launches through the air, colliding with him.

Louis’ legs wrap around Harry’s waist, his arms around Harry’s neck. Harry’s arms tighten around Louis’ back, holding him up and holding him close.

“You’re here, you’re here, you’re here,” Louis chants in disbelief, pressing their lips together in a hasty, joyful kiss.

“I missed you,” Harry murmurs against Louis’ lips, hardly able to believe that Louis is back in his arms once again. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Louis replies, smiling brightly. He presses his face into Harry’s neck, inhaling deeply. “I missed your scent,” he murmurs. “A warm summer’s day is a harder smell to replicate than roses.”

Harry smiles, tilting his head to the side as Louis alternates running his nose and lips over the column of Harry’s throat. “I loved the roses. Made me feel like you were actually with me.”

“Thought that was a clever idea.”

“It was.”

Louis leans back and smiles at Harry, but Harry can see desire in his eyes. “God, Harry,” Louis whispers, breathless. “I wish our reunion didn’t have to be like this. I want to take you upstairs and never let you leave, but…”

“I know,” Harry replies, reluctantly lowering Louis to the ground. “I just wanted to see you again, touch you for a moment.”

“You can still come inside,” Louis suggests, hand slipping into Harry’s.

“Of course,” Harry responds, following Louis into the manor.

As soon as they step inside, a maid appears. She curtsies to Louis and says, “Excuse me, Mr. Tomlinson, but your aunt was asking for you. She’s in the drawing room.”

“Thank you, Rebecca,” Louis replies, making the young maid smile.

Harry kisses Louis’ temple, and Louis leans into the touch.

“Come on,” Louis tugs on his hand. “Let’s go in before you leave me no choice but to drag you upstairs.”

Harry smiles. “And what’s so wrong with that?”

Louis snorts, giving his hand a squeeze before dropping it.

“How is your aunt?” Harry asks as Louis leads him down the hallway.

Louis snorts. “She fell down about two steps and sprained her wrist. The way she’s been going on about it, you’d think she was a wounded soldier returning from the frontlines.”

Harry chuckles as they stop at the end of the hall. Louis pushes the door open and they step inside.

As Harry enters the drawing room, the very first thing he notices is that Mrs. Henderson is not alone. Sitting across from her is Mrs. Humphreys.

“Louis!” Mrs. Henderson exclaims. “And Mr. Styles! How lovely for you to join us!”

Mrs. Humphreys’ eyes dart between the two of them, and a satisfied smirk forms on her lips.

“Mr. Styles,” she greets, offering her hand to Harry. “You look very well.”

“And you, ma’am,” Harry replies, avoiding her knowing glances.

Harry and Louis sit opposite one another, and Harry is thankful. He doesn’t know how he’d be able to resist having Louis sit next to him, so close after so long, and not be able to touch.

“How are you feeling, Mrs. Henderson?” Harry asks politely. “Mr. Tomlinson told me you were injured.”

“Oh, what an absolute fright!” Mrs. Henderson exclaims. “I was just walking down the stairs like I do any old day, and suddenly what do I know, but I’m tumbling down the stairs!” Her hand comes up to lay across her heart, Mrs. Humphreys gasping appropriately.

Harry glances at Louis, only to find him shaking with silent laughter. Harry tries to keep his expression one of neutrality, but he keeps his eyes firmly fixed on his lap to hide his twitching lips.

“I remember thinking that surely this was the end,” Mrs. Henderson continues dramatically. “I don’t know how long I lied there before one of the servants found me. They called for the doctor straight away, but I feared he wouldn’t make it in time.”

“What did the doctor say?” Harry asks politely.

“My wrist.” Mrs. Henderson holds up her right arm, hitherto hidden from Harry’s line of sight. It’s wrapped loosely in a bandage. “I thought it was broken in two, but the doctor said it was only a sprain. ‘Only a sprain!’ I told him. ‘After falling down a flight of stairs! I’m lucky to still be alive!’”

“How dreadful, Agatha,” Mrs. Humphreys says, sipping her tea.

“I feel very lucky to be alive,” Mrs. Henderson repeats.

“I am glad you are alright,” Harry says, trying to sound serious.

“Thank you, Mr. Styles,” Mrs. Henderson replies, thankfully not noticing Harry’s amusement.

“How are you, Mr. Styles?” Mrs. Humphreys asks. “I haven’t seen you since my dinner party in the spring.” She raises her eyebrows at him. “I heard about the trouble at Hampton over the summer, but I trust everything is well again?”

“Yes,” Harry replies. “The strike only caused a momentary pause, but I can assure you that we are running again like nothing ever happened. Hampton is doing as well as ever.”

“That’s wonderful to hear,” Mrs. Humphreys says, but her tone is uninterested. She sounds much more invested as she asks, “And you and Mr. Tomlinson have been working closely together?”

Harry looks over at Louis to find him watching with an amused expression on his face. Harry and Louis’ courtship is publicly known, and Harry is well aware that Mrs. Humphreys most likely spread the news far and wide as soon as she heard. Regardless, Harry isn’t going to give her the satisfaction of saying it aloud.

“From time to time,” Harry answers, making Louis chuckle quietly. “How was your trip to London, Mr. Tomlinson?” Harry asks, an unsubtle change of subject.

Louis smiles. “It went well, thank you. Mostly days spent in the House of Lords, although I was able to call on some friends who live in London. Some of them I hadn’t seen since before I went to New York, so I enjoyed that very much.”

Harry mirrors Louis’ smile. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“Did you attend any parties?” Mrs. Henderson asks. Harry jars at the sound of her voice, having almost forgotten that there were other people in the room. “Since it was the end of the season, I’m sure there were many delightful parties to attend.”

Louis shakes his head. “No, I’m afraid I was in London to work.”

“Such a shame,” Mrs. Humphreys says. “London society is very exciting.”

Harry catches Louis rolling his eyes, and Harry smiles to himself. He knows that society parties are not of high precedence to Louis.

Mrs. Humphreys and Mrs. Henderson begin enthusiastically discussing London and Manchester society. They talk about all the couples who have mated during the season, and whether or not they think they were good matches.

The expectation for couples in high society is to mate and marry on the same evening, but that is not always what happens. Mrs. Humphreys and Mrs. Henderson gossip enthusiastically about the couples who mated but chose to wait to marry, or vice versa. They speculate why the couples chose to wait, wondering if their commitments to one another are not as serious as they should be. Harry knows many couples who have not mated and married on the same day, for multiple reasons such as finance or personal preference, so he can’t help but feel annoyed by the women’s judgmental conversation. They have an opinion on everyone, even the couples they don’t know very well. Harry eventually tunes out their conversation, deciding instead to focus on Louis.

When Harry glances over at Louis, it’s to find that Louis is also no longer paying attention to his aunt’s conversation and is watching Harry too. Louis’ gaze is surprisingly dark, his lip tucked between his teeth and a high blush on his cheeks. His eyes roam slowly over Harry, drinking in the sight of him.

Harry feels his body respond to his omega’s clear appraisal, and his cock twitches in his trousers. Louis must smell Harry’s arousal, because his eyes slip shut momentarily, his lips parting as he inhales raggedly.

Drifting across the space between them, Harry can smell roses.

His eyes dart over to Mrs. Humphreys and Mrs. Henderson, worried that they will be able to smell Louis’ arousal also. But they continue talking mindlessly, clearly unaffected by Louis’ alluring scent. Harry then remembers what Louis had told him – since Louis’ arousal is for Harry, it is only Harry who can smell him. Because they are true mates, their bodies are calling for only one another.

Harry’s eyes roam over Louis’ body. He can’t touch him, map out Louis’ skin with his hands, but he can reacquaint himself visually with Louis. He studies the sharp cut of Louis’ cheekbones and the gentle blush on his cheeks. His eyes follow the gentle curve of Louis’ wrists, how his long fingers tangle together in his lap, wrists limp. His attention is drawn to Louis’ waist, how the fabric of his suit cuts inwards, accentuating his curves. Harry thinks about all the warm, golden skin underneath his clothes. Harry wishes to touch it, all of it, with his hands and with his mouth.

When Harry brings his eyes back up to Louis’ face, it is clear that Louis has been watching. His blue eyes are blown to black and his scent is thickening in the room. Harry feels his chest rumble, wanting to respond to Louis’ desire.

“How about a stroll around the gardens?”

Harry’s attention is forcibly pulled away from Louis at Mrs. Henderson’s suggestion. She looks at Harry and Louis, thankfully oblivious to what has passed between them.

“Yes,” Louis says, but his voice breaks. He clears his throat roughly in an attempt to cover it. “A stroll through the gardens sounds lovely.”

Louis stands up swiftly, exiting the drawing room without waiting for anyone to follow.

“Sounds wonderful,” Harry agrees, standing up. He waits patiently for Mrs. Henderson and Mrs. Humphreys, and they walk out of the room together.

Louis waits by the back door. Harry shares a private smile with him as they walk out onto the balcony. He remembers standing outside with Louis while attending the dance at Hilltop. Before he and Louis began courting, before they had confessed their love for one another. But Harry also remembers looking at Louis that evening and knowing that his feelings were reciprocated.

The four head into the gardens, tall hedges and covered walkways spread out before them.

Despite being late summer, the gardens are still vibrant with color. The trees are a luscious green, and the flowers form a rainbow of colors.

Harry and Louis walk ahead of Mrs. Henderson and Mrs. Humphreys, never out of sight, but far enough away to create a semblance of privacy. Their hands brush together as they walk, Louis’ smallest finger catching between Harry’s fingers. The touch is light, Louis gently stroking Harry’s palm. Harry can feel Louis’ heat radiating from his body, his scent thick in the air.

“What would you do to me if we were alone right now?”

Harry splutters, choking on air. All the breath rushes out of his body as he trembles. His head is foggy, thick with Manchester smoke and the aroma of roses.

“What?” Harry asks, his voice so deep and feral he hardly recognizes it.

“What would you do to me if we were alone right now?” Louis repeats, voice trembling only slightly. “I want you to tell me, because when you leave, I’m going to go to my room, lock the door, put two fingers inside of me, and make myself come from whatever you tell me. So make it good.”

Louis looks ahead, feigning unaffectedness, but Harry can see his hands shaking. Can see the line of his cock pressed against the zip of his trousers. Can smell the thickening scent of roses.

Harry can’t breathe.

He doesn’t even know how to begin to respond, his mind flooding with thoughts of all the things he would do with Louis if they were alone. If they weren’t in Louis’ aunt’s garden, and if his aunt and her friend weren’t right behind them.

But Harry wishes they were alone. God, does he wish he and Louis were alone. He wishes they were alone so that he could act on every fantasy he’s entertained since Louis left for London two weeks ago.

Harry can’t physically act right now, but Louis is giving him a way to act on his desires anyways. Louis’ letting Harry act verbally on the desire he knows they both are feeling.

“If we were alone right now,” Harry begins slowly, keeping his voice low, “we’d be together on my bed.”

“Naked?” Louis asks, swallowing noisily.

“No,” Harry shakes his head, even though Louis isn’t looking at him. Their fingers catch momentarily, before separating. “You’d have your clothes on, and I would undress you. I’d start with your shirt and work my way down. I would kiss every inch of skin that was revealed. I would worship your body as it became bare for me.”

Louis inhales raggedly. Harry wonders how wet he is, and his hands twitch with the desire to slip down the back of Louis’ trousers. To feel in broad daylight.

“But I’d avoid your cock. I wouldn’t put my mouth there. It would be hard, standing up against your stomach, but I wouldn’t touch it. I’d just let it leak all over you, as I kissed your hips, your ankles, your wrists, your neck.

“Once you’re naked, I would take off my own clothes too, but I wouldn’t do so slowly. I would pull them off quickly, and you would help, because you would be desperate for me to be naked as well.”

“Yes,” Louis gasps. They turn the corner in the gardens, walking past a bubbling fountain. “Always want you naked. So beautiful.” Louis swallows. “Then what?”

“Then I’d take your cock in my mouth,” Harry says, feeling himself really getting into it. He feels as if he’s doing these things right here in this moment. Their words are foreplay that make Harry’s mouth water and his cock swell. “And I’d slip a finger into your hole. I’d fill you up, and you’d fill me up. You’d be so wet for me, leaking in my mouth, leaking down my palm. But I love your taste, baby. Always want you to be wet.”

“I am wet, Harry,” Louis says on a shuddered breath. “So wet for you.”

“Wish I could feel,” Harry replies, voice shaking with desire. He keeps looking ahead, knowing that if he even glances at Louis, his resolve will break.

“What would you do next?” Louis asks.

“You’d come in my mouth,” Harry says, “as I stroke your prostate. You just wouldn’t be able to hold it in. You’d be so overwhelmed that you would just have to let go. You would feel so good, baby. And I would swallow every drop you gave me, would take it happily. Then I would kiss your mouth, let you taste yourself. You’d be so greedy for it, want to taste yourself on my tongue.”

“Harry, I’m so hard,” Louis gasps. “Is it possible for me to come from your words alone, without a hand on my cock?”

“Fuck, Louis,” Harry breathes. “I’d give my kingdom for us to be alone right now.”

Louis huffs a breathless laugh. “You pretentious shit. You don’t have a kingdom.”

They turn another corner, walking towards the manor. Distantly, Harry can hear Mrs. Humphreys and Mrs. Henderson’s chatter, their laughter rising above the hedges, reminding Harry that he and Louis aren’t actually alone.

“What would you do next?” Louis asks, voice breaking.

“I’d put another finger inside of you,” Harry murmurs. “I’d kiss you as I finger you open, as I rub against your spot. You would moan and swear, but most of all, you would just say ‘alpha’ over and over again.”

“Alpha,” Louis breathes. “Alpha, alpha, alpha, alpha.”

“Fuck,” Harry swears, his cock leaking in his trousers. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself, but it has the opposite effect. Louis’ scent is strong, and he smells like he’s about to come. Harry knows that if he even touched Louis’ cock, barely a brush of his hand, Louis would come.

“Once you’re open,” Harry continues, voice nothing more than a ragged murmur, “I’d press my cock into you. Your body always takes me so well, Louis, my wonderful omega. I would thrust into you, slowly at first, but then more quickly. I’d make sure to hit your spot every time so that you were being constantly pleasured. Neither one of us would be able to speak at that point, too overwhelmed for words. But I would listen to your moans, and you would listen to mine, and that would make us even harder, even more desperate for one another.

“And I would make sure you came first, maybe with a hand on your cock, maybe nothing at all. But I would kiss you as you came and tell you how much I love you and how perfect you are. Then I would start to come, my knot inside of you, stretching you and filling you. We’d stay locked together, just like our bodies designed for us to be. Alpha and omega, omega and alpha. My darling, my love.”

Louis whines. “Fuck, I knew this was a bad idea. God, I need to come.”

“Can we go inside?” Harry asks desperately.

They pause at the base of the steps to the manor’s back entrance. For the first time since stepping outside, Harry and Louis turn to face one another.

All the air leaves Harry’s body as he gazes at Louis. Louis looks wrecked, on the verge of an orgasm. His lips are red and bitten, his eyes black. His face is flushed all the way down to his neck, disappearing under his collar. His cock strains against his trousers, and even with the black fabric, Harry can see a wet spot.

Harry knows he must not look very different, and his body only yearns for Louis. He’s about to scoop Louis up in his arms and rush inside when Mrs. Henderson’s voice cuts through the air.

“Louis, could you go fetch some ice for my wrist?” she calls, emerging from the hedges. Harry and Louis quickly angle their bodies so their arousals are not exposed, their hands resting in front of their crotches in what Harry hopes is a discreet manner.

Louis clears his throat twice before he replies, “Yes, Aunt.”

Harry and Louis quickly walk up the steps and back into the manor. Once the door is shut behind them, they both lean heavily against the wall, arms touching as they catch their breath.

“Is there any way I can stay?” Harry asks desperately.

Louis shakes his head like it pains him to do so. “My aunt is old fashioned and would never let us go upstairs unaccompanied. And besides, what we do is private. It’s none of her business.”

Harry nods. “I understand, but God, do I want you.”

“I will come by tomorrow night, I swear it,” Louis says. “We won’t have to leave the bed all weekend.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Harry replies.

Louis smiles, eyes slipping shut for a moment. “Fuck, my erection isn’t going to go away with you still standing here.” He opens his eyes and looks at Harry. “And I really do need to go get my aunt some ice. She’s been complaining about her wrist non-stop.”

“I’ll go request my carriage,” Harry says. “Mine won’t go away either if I can still smell you.”

Louis chuckles. “I knew that was a bad idea; I just couldn’t help myself. Didn’t think we’d get so carried away.”

“I fucking missed you,” Harry responds. “And I love you and want you all the time. Of course we got carried away.”

Louis laughs, smiling at Harry. “I’ll know for the next time.”

Harry smiles back at him. “Can I kiss you before I leave?”

Louis seems to war with the question, desire and reluctance flickering across his face. “I want you to, but I don’t think I’d ever let you stop.”

“Just one,” Harry whispers, turning his body towards Louis, shoulder pressed against the wall. “Just one and I’ll go.”

“As if I believe you,” Louis replies, but he’s already leaning in, a smile on his lips.

As their lips touch, Harry feels fire course through his body. It’s as if the entire world comes down to this singular point where they are touching. All that matters is the kiss shared between them, their love expressed in each press of lips.

Then Louis’ heat is gone, and he’s racing across the room, fleeing as if he’s just stolen Harry’s watch from his pocket. “I love you!” Louis calls over his shoulder. “Now go the fuck away!”

Harry laughs as he watches Louis disappear around the corner. As much as he wants to stay by Louis’ side, he knows that he needs to go. They can’t act on the passions burning in their bodies and staying but not touching would be torture. He needs to go.

“I love you, too!” Harry calls and hears Louis’ joyous laughter in response.

With Louis no longer by his side, Harry exits the manor quickly. The carriage is brought to him, and Harry climbs inside hastily.

Once the door is shut and the carriage is rolling, taking Harry away from Louis, Harry unbuttons his trousers and slips a hand inside.

He comes after barely three strokes, his body shaking with pleasure and Louis’ name on his lips.

 

That evening before Harry goes to bed, a note arrives for him.

It simply reads:

_One for each orgasm._

_Louis x_

Accompanied with the note are four roses.

Harry presses each rose to his mouth, gently kissing the petals, imaging that they are Louis’ soft lips. He inhales the scent, trying to imagine that it’s Louis’ scent right before he comes, when his body is calling to Harry the most strongly.

Harry can hardly believe that remembering his words brought Louis to climax four times, but when his cock twitches at the thought, it doesn’t seem so unrealistic. He came once in the carriage, and then again when he arrived home, writhing against his bedsheets, wishing his hand was Louis’, wishing the scent from the roses in the vase was coming from Louis’ skin.

Carefully, Harry puts the four roses into the vase with the dozen others. He strokes the petals gently, a caress for Louis.

He falls asleep dreaming of tomorrow night when he will have Louis in his arms again.

 

The following evening arrives like an answer to a prayer.

Harry had been distracted at the mill all day, hardly able to focus or think about anything other than Louis. He couldn’t even leave his desk, his cock becoming mildly interested at the most inopportune moments. Any thoughts of Louis, of what happened yesterday, and what will happen tonight, has Harry stiffening in his trousers.

Harry leaves work before the end of the day, keeping his head down as he walks quickly home.

Louis didn’t give a time for when he would be over, so Harry can do nothing but wait. He gives instructions to Jones to send Louis up as soon as he arrives.

Harry paces in his bedroom as the sky darkens outside, hands shaking with the need to touch his omega. Every carriage that rolls by beneath his window, every voice that drifts up from the street, causes Harry’s heart to lurch. He feels like a tightly coiled spring ready to leap apart – his body filled with so much potential and energy.

Just as he feels like he’s about to jump out of his skin, Harry hears quick footsteps pounding up the stairs. Harry gasps in excitement, running to his bedroom door and flinging it open.

Just like yesterday when Harry arrived at Hilltop, Louis doesn’t give Harry time to think before he jumps into Harry’s arms. But this time, their kisses are not gentle caresses. Right away, the kisses are scorching. Their tongues dance together, wet and slick. Louis’ hands are in Harry’s hair; Harry’s hands knead at Louis’ arse. Harry licks every corner of Louis’ mouth, tasting roses.

Harry stumbles as he makes his way to the bed, Louis never relenting with his fierce kisses.

They collapse onto the bed, limbs tangled and kisses frantic. Harry can already feel Louis’ cock against him, and Harry knows that he’s in a similar state. He wonders if Louis has been half-hard all day too. If while he was taking tea with his aunt, Louis was thinking about all the things that Harry would do to him tonight.

“Fuck me like you said you would,” Louis pleads against Harry’s mouth. “I want it, Harry. Please.”

As if Harry could ever refuse such a request. His brain is foggy and he has difficulty recalling at first what he promised Louis he would do, but muscle memory quickly takes over. His descriptions of what he would do to Louis if they were alone are exactly what he always wants to do when he and Louis are alone.

They kiss and touch and make love like starving lovers. As Harry kisses every inch of Louis’ skin, Harry tells Louis how much he missed him. As Harry takes Louis’ cock into his mouth, Louis moans with abandon, hands clenched in the sheets. After Louis comes into Harry’s mouth, Harry kisses Louis deeply, letting Louis drink his taste right from Harry’s tongue. When Harry comes inside of Louis, their bodies as one, they swear their love for one another, the words alpha and omega whispered as if it is the only language they know.

 

“You know how I mentioned that I visited some friends while I was in London?” Louis asks the following morning.

Harry nods around a bite of toast. He and Louis are sitting in bed, legs pressed together under the sheets, as they eat breakfast. It was one of the rare mornings that Harry requested a full English, since he and Louis both woke up absolutely famished.

Louis sips at his tea, cup cradled in his hands, before he says, “The visits were primarily for pleasure, but naturally the topic of my work came up.”

Harry nods to show he’s listening.

“Well, quite a few of them are also political and were really interested in the MMIC. I told them about what we’ve been doing, and especially our work with Hampton.” Louis smiles. “You don’t know how proud it made me when I would mention Hampton to my London friends and they would know exactly what I was talking about. You have an incredible reputation in London, Harry. I was a proud omega.”

Louis leans over to kiss Harry, the taste of tea on Louis’ lips.

“That’s really wonderful to hear,” Harry says.

Louis nods, a growing smile on his face. “It was. But what was also so great was that some of my friends decided to become regular patrons of the MMIC.”

“Louis!” Harry exclaims. He hastily puts down his plate so that he can take Louis in his arms and kiss his cheek. “That’s incredible!”

“We’re going to be able to do so much more good work,” Louis says, arms wrapping around Harry’s back, his face tucked into the curve of Harry’s neck. “I still need to meet with the committee, but my hope is that we’ll be able to expand to the surrounding counties. I’m so happy.”

“My darling, I’m so happy for you,” Harry replies. “You’re doing such incredible work. It only makes sense for others to see that and want to contribute.”

“Thank you,” Louis says, voice soft. “I wouldn’t have been able to do any of this without you.”

Harry pulls back, shaking his head. “No, this was all you.”

“But you gave us a chance,” Louis insists, placing his hands on either side of Harry’s face. “Our other work came from the other mills hearing that Hampton had taken us on. The other mills saw your example and gave us a chance. Without you and Hampton, we’d just be political lobbyists, which certainly has its place, don’t misunderstand me. But because of you, we’re activists. We’re doing actual work each week to make mills a better and safer place to work. So thank you, Harry.”

“Hampton owes you a debt of gratitude too,” Harry says. He reaches up to take Louis’ hands in his, and places soft kisses to Louis’ knuckles. “My hope for this year was to make Hampton even greater. With your help, I have accomplished that.”

Louis smiles. “I’m glad we found one another.”

Harry grins, leaning forward to kiss Louis. “Me too.”

 

Louis sleeps in Harry’s arms, his chest gently rising and falling with each breath.

Louis had fallen asleep soon after his last orgasm, but Harry had felt strangely awake and alert. It’s only midafternoon, and they’ve spent the whole of the day in bed. He feels restless, but he doesn’t mind. He’s content to lie quietly with his omega in his arms.

Harry presses soft kisses to Louis’ neck, the skin warm under his mouth. He runs his lips along the stubble at Louis’ jaw, the scratch pleasing on his already sore lips. He runs his nose along the column of Louis’ throat, inhaling the faint scent of his skin, of his arousal.

Harry pauses at the curve of Louis’ neck and shoulder. He leans back slightly to look at the golden, unmarked skin. If he and Louis were to ever mate, this is where Harry would mark him. Harry’s heart thuds in his chest, his breath turning ragged at the thought. Along the curve of Louis’ neck and shoulder would be Harry’s permanent claim that Louis is his omega, and Louis’ permanent claim that Harry is his alpha. This is the spot that would join them and make them one in a way that making love does not. It would join their souls.

Harry has never let his kisses venture to this spot before. He’s always been respectful that he has not gained that privilege yet. But as he looks at it, Harry’s mouth waters with the desire to taste. To sink his teeth into Louis, to join them together unquestionably, omega and alpha.

“I want you to, you know.”

Louis’ voice is so quiet that Harry at first thinks he imagined it. Louis’ eyes remain closed, head still resting against the pillows, but his lips are turned up at the corners.

“What?” Harry asks, disbelieving, confused by how easily Louis read his thoughts.

Louis’ eyes flutter open lazily. His eyes meet Harry’s, his expression soft. Louis reaches up gently to rest his hand on Harry’s cheek.

“You’re thinking about mating me, aren’t you?” Louis asks quietly.

Harry’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t deny it. “How did you know?”

Louis smiles. “You never kiss me there. You always stop before you get there. You stopped just now.” Louis pauses for a beat before saying, “I want you to kiss me there, you know.”

“I didn’t know,” Harry responds. He touches the skin gently, his fingertips stroking the warm skin.

Louis rolls his eyes. “You ridiculous man. I want to mate with you.”

The simple statement shouldn’t be a revelation, but Harry can’t help but gasp anyways. It’s the first time the words have been explicitly said. They’ve professed their love, called one another alpha and omega, but they’ve never actually discussed mating.

“Are we talking about this?” Harry asks, voice undeniably hopeful, heart in his throat. “Are we actually talking about this?”

Louis smiles. “We are.”

Harry lurches forward, pressing a hard kiss to Louis’ mouth. “I love you,” Harry says, awe in his voice.

“I love you, too,” Louis says, chuckling quietly. He strokes Harry’s cheek before beginning softly, “I know we haven’t talked about it, but I’ve thought about it a lot and I know this is what I want. I’m thirty years old, and I’ve found the man I know I want to spend the rest of my life with. We may not have been together that long, and I can only speak for myself, but I am so certain that this is what I want.”

“Me too,” Harry insists. “I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life. We’re true mates; of course it makes sense that we both want this.”

Louis grins. “That’s true. I’m not in any rush, but I don’t want to wait too long.”

“Agreed,” Harry replies.

“When is your next rut?” Louis asks shyly.

“In about a month,” Harry answers, heart pounding in his chest at the implication.

Louis smiles. “I think we could be ready by then, don’t you?”

Harry nods fervently, unable to believe this is happening to him. “I would be ready. We just need to figure out the logistics.” Harry’s mind races, happiness bubbling in his chest like champagne. “And I want you to meet my mother, and I want to meet yours.”

Louis nods. “My mother would kill me if I mated before she met my alpha.”

“So would mine.”

“But I think this is the next logical step. Now that we know this is what we both want, we can begin discussing all the logistics.”

“Yes, that’s a good idea. We need to figure out where we’ll live and finances and if we want to marry or not and our future –” Harry pauses, breath caught in his throat. Louis’ eyes are wide, knowing what he was about to say.

“And starting a family,” Louis breathes. He wraps his arms around Harry’s neck. “I want a family with you.”

As Harry gathers Louis into his arms, he feels the inexplicable urge to cry. The man he loves is offering him everything he’s ever wanted. Harry doesn’t know if he’s ever been so happy.

“And I want one with you. Louis,” Harry gasps wetly, “I want to have a family with you.”

“Harry,” Louis whispers breathlessly, tilting his neck to the side. “Kiss me there. Kiss me there as a promise that we will one day mate. That one day we will be each other’s completely and eternally.”

The request is impossible to refuse. Harry presses a fervent kiss to Louis’ neck, and impossibly, the skin seems warmer and sweeter there than anywhere else on Louis’ body. It is as if this skin was made just for Harry. Louis shudders in his arms as Harry kisses him there, and Harry has never felt such incredible happiness. Harry kisses him there over and over again, lips and touch reverent. It’s the place where Harry can someday leave his mark, someday claim Louis completely.

The place where someday they will become one soul in two bodies.

 

On a warm day at the end of August, Harry hosts a luncheon at his home for potential new investors. Hampton’s recovery from the strike has caught the eye of local businessmen and women in Manchester, and over the past few weeks, Harry has received several inquiries about new investments. Even though Hampton is doing well since the strike, Harry feels uncharacteristically nervous. New investors could mean even greater things for Hampton, such as finally being able to raise the workers’ wages, the cause of the strike in the first place.

Harry fusses around the dining room, making sure everything is organized and ready for his guests. The table is immaculately laid, and Harry knows the cook has prepared an excellent lunch. It will all come down to him – his ability to flatter and persuade and entice as he tells the potential new investors about Hampton. Thankfully, it is an art he perfected long ago, and as he hears the first knock on the door, he knows that he can do this.

Seven members of Manchester society come to lunch. Harry greets each of them by name, talking and laughing with them and making them feel welcome. Over a delicious lunch, Harry tells them about Hampton. He tells them about how profits continue to rise, even in the aftermath of a strike. He speaks of his work with the MMIC and how greatly that has benefited both the mill and his workers. He speaks of his plans for the coming year, his hopes to expand eventually to America and the colonies.

His audience listens with intrigue, but still asks Harry challenging questions. They want to know how he plans to avoid future strikes and speak about the risk of selling outside of Britain. Harry answers all their questions as confidently and informedly as he can.

By the end of the luncheon, he has seven new investors.

 

August melts into September. The trees turn from green to gold and red. The days turn cooler; the sun hides its face amongst the clouds.

The MMIC’s time with Hampton is winding down. Harry realizes this one day as he sits at his desk, reviewing the initial plan that Louis gave him in April, seemingly a lifetime ago. As Harry looks over the plan, he realizes with satisfaction that they have accomplished almost everything on the list. Fire alarms, the wheels, the fences – all have been installed, all have helped make Hampton a safer place. Each day the floors are mopped, cleaning up oil from the machines. Sickness in his mill has gone down in the past few months, and while Harry knows he’ll need to see if this continues over the long term or if it’s just an anomaly, it’s encouraging nonetheless. Because of the MMIC’s work, Hampton is greater.

With his new investors, Harry plans to raise his workers’ wages by the end of the year. They will be better cared for and hopefully more content for the long term. He will have given his workers a safer environment to work in as well as increased their wages for the labor they do. Harry knows Hampton has accomplished great things in the past year, but being able to provide his workers with this level of care may be the greatest thing.

The first week of September, Harry calls Louis into his office.

Louis raps lightly against the doorframe to announce his presence before stepping inside. When Harry looks up from his work, Louis smiles at him. Harry’s automatic reaction is to return the smile, but he tries to fight it, attempting to school his expression into one of neutrality.

“Mr. Tomlinson, take a seat,” Harry says, tone professional, gesturing to the chair on the other side of his desk.

Louis’ eyebrows lift in surprise, but he doesn’t protest.

Harry taps his papers against his desk before folding his hands together, leaning forward.

“Well, Mr. Tomlinson, the MMIC is coming to the end of their partnership with Hampton Mills,” Harry begins.

Louis smirks, clearly catching onto Harry’s game, before also smoothing his expression to one of professionalism. “Yes, Mr. Styles, that is correct.”

“And how do you evaluate the MMIC’s work? Did you set out to accomplish everything you wished?”

Louis nods, expression briefly shifting to one of soft fondness before changing back. “Yes, I certainly believe we did. As I said when we first began, Hampton already was in excellent condition. There were no glaring errors that could not be easily rectified. But what we have sought to do is to make Hampton an even safer, even greater mill. To make it the best it could possibly be. I believe, with your help, we have done so.

“As well, when my team and I have spoken with the workers, they seem much happier and healthier because of the changes that have been made. I have noticed a greater productivity at Hampton, which will lead to greater profit for the mill.”

Harry nods slowly, not wanting to give anything away. “And what about your work with the mill owner?” Harry asks. “I believe you two didn’t always see eye to eye in your time at Hampton. What is your final conclusion on him?”

Louis’ lips twitch and he glances at his lap. When he looks up, he says, “I believe he is as much of an insufferable bastard as I first suspected.”

Harry snorts, breaking character as he begins to laugh. Louis laughs too, smile bright and happy, and eyes crinkled.

Louis stands up from his seat, walks around the desk, and climbs into Harry’s lap. Their smiles are wide, laughter still falling from their lips as Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s neck. Harry’s hands come to rest on Louis’ waist, thumbs running over his hips.

“I should have known you wouldn’t play along,” Harry pretends to groan.

Louis smirks. “As if I would ever pass up an opportunity to tease you.”

Harry smiles, pressing a kiss to Louis’ mouth. “What I hoped you would say is that our initial disagreements show that we’re not afraid to challenge one another. And that as we grew to love one another, we already had a foundation of respect that came from our different opinions. That we saw each other at our worst before we saw each other at our best, and that allowed our love to grow from a place of honesty and vulnerability.”

Louis strokes Harry’s cheek, still smiling. “Yes, I suppose I agree with all of that.”

Harry pinches Louis’ bum, and Louis playfully smacks Harry’s shoulder before they meet for a giggly kiss. But as Harry begins to pull away, Louis holds onto Harry’s face, turning the kiss gentle and soft.

“I love you and I’m so thankful that our work brought us together,” Louis murmurs, fingertips light on Harry’s cheekbones. “That you gave the MMIC a chance, and therefore, gave me a chance. Gave us a chance.”

Harry reaches up to tug at Louis’ collar, pulling it away so that he can press a kiss to the curve of Louis’ shoulder. Louis gasps softly at the touch, head tilting instinctively to the side.

“I love you, too,” Harry murmurs into Louis’ skin. “And I can’t help but feel sad that the MMIC’s work here is finishing. I’ll miss you around the mill.”

Louis chuckles quietly. “You ridiculous man. As if we’ll never see one another again. As if we aren’t planning on mating in three weeks’ time.”

“I know,” Harry concedes. “But I like having you around here.” He kisses Louis’ shoulder once more before leaning up to look in Louis’ eyes. “Hampton is as much yours as it is mine, now.”

Louis’ expression turns to one of complete love and devotion, and he leans forward to press their foreheads together. Louis exhales shakily, hands gentle on Harry’s face. Harry knows that Louis understands how significant those words are.

“And everything I have is yours,” Louis promises. “My alpha.”

“My omega.”

“My love.”

“My love.”

 

The carriage rolls to a stop in front of a modest two story house on a quiet, suburban street. The houses are all pressed together, like the architects wanted to see how many of the same house they could fit on one street. But the house looks welcoming – red brick and white shutters. Flowers in the front garden, a gate opening to a cobblestone path.

Harry’s heart beats quickly in his chest and his palms feel damp as the carriage stops. Louis, on the other hand, grins brightly, bouncing with excitement in his seat. When he glances over at Harry, he rolls his eyes, the smile never falling from his lips.

“She’ll love you, Harry. I promise.” Louis squeezes his hand.

Harry swallows, his throat dry. He desperately needs a glass of water. “I’m mating her son. Her oldest child. Who I definitely do not deserve. How on earth could she love me?”

Louis laughs, kissing Harry’s cheek. “Because I love you. And she knows I have excellent judgment.”

Harry gives a small smile. “Well, I suppose that’s true.”

“It is. Now, come on,” Louis tugs impatiently at Harry’s hand. “Let’s go inside.”

The door bursts open before Harry and Louis are even up the path. A red headed girl and blond boy, who Harry knows to be Doris and Ernest, race towards Louis.

Harry lets go of Louis’ hand so that Louis can open his arms to them, a joyful smile on his face as Ernest and Doris run to him.

“Let me look at you,” Louis exclaims, holding them both at arm’s length. The twins giggle, clearly delighted by their older brother’s attention. “Oh, I can’t believe how much you’ve grown.”

Doris rolls her eyes. “You say that every time you visit.”

“And I’ll say it until I can make it stop,” Louis declares, smacking kisses to their cheeks.

“It didn’t work with you; I don’t know why it would work with them.”

Louis looks up the sound of the new voice, bursting into a smile as his mother emerges from the house.

“Mother!” Louis exclaims, walking swiftly to her and wrapping her in a close hug.

Harry can see Jay’s face as she and Louis embrace, and Harry is immediately struck by the resemblance. Jay is a beautiful woman with a kind face and the same crinkled eyes. Harry has heard so much about her and how much Louis adores her, but it’s not until he witnesses their clear affection that he truly has a sense of how special their relationship is.

“It’s good to see you,” Jay says quietly, kissing Louis’ cheek. Harry doesn’t hear Louis’ reply, but he knows Louis feels the same.

As Jay steps out of the embrace, she keeps her arm around Louis’ waist as she turns to Harry. While her stance is protective, her expression is kind and welcoming.

“Harry,” Louis says. “This is my mother, Johannah.” He gestures towards the twins. “And Ernest and Doris.”

“Harry, it’s wonderful to meet you,” Jay says, walking up to Harry and wrapping him in a hug. “Louis has told me so much about you, I feel like I already know you.”

“I’ve heard so much about you, as well,” Harry replies. “I’m so pleased to finally meet you.”

Jay smiles at him, that same, kind smile that Harry knows so well. Then she glances over at the twins. “Don’t you want to say hello to Harry?” she asks them.

“Hiya, I’m Ernest,” Ernest declares, stepping forward bravely. He reaches out his hand to shake Harry’s, and Harry smiles.

“Hi, Ernest. I’m Harry.” Harry shakes his hand, and Ernest grins. “Your brother has told me so much about you.”

“I’m Doris,” Doris says, stepping up next to her brother, clearly not wanting to be left out. She curtsies daintily. “I’m nine.”

“I’m also nine!” Ernest adds.

“Yes, you’re twins,” Louis teases.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet both of you,” Harry tells them. The twins smile toothily at him.

“Come in, come in,” Jay insists, taking Harry’s arm. “I want to hear all about the man who won my son’s heart.” Then she stage whispers, “It’s no easy task, I’m sure.”

“I can hear you,” Louis says, following behind them.

Jay laughs. “I know you can, dear.”

The afternoon goes incredibly well. Jay is kind and funny, and Harry sees so much of Louis in her that he is helpless not to adore her. She entertains them with stories from Louis’ childhood, everything from his affinity to taking off his trousers in public to how he cared for his sisters as he grew up. Jay speaks about Louis’ first years in the mill without hesitation or shame, and it’s clear from Ernest and Doris’ reactions that they have heard these stories many times before.

“Everyone adored him at the mill,” Jay tells Harry. “Everyone constantly wanted to hold him, was always fussing over him. And he loved it. Absolutely soaked up all the attention. He was a little terror once he learned to walk. I couldn’t keep track of him. He’d just make his rounds each morning in the spinning room. He’d walk up to each person and say ‘hiya’ and they would just melt. He had everyone wrapped around his finger.”

Louis shrugs as Harry laughs, easily able to imagine Louis as a friendly and talkative child, willing to strike up a conversation with anyone.

Louis asks after their friends from the mill, and Harry smiles as he hears Jay talk about how everyone’s doing. It’s clear that even though Jay’s standing in life improved enough where she no longer had to work in a mill, she still relates to and understands that lifestyle.

Jay, as well, asks Harry all about himself. She asks about the mill, but she also asks about him as a person. His likes, his dislikes. His childhood, his family, and his hopes for the future. She asks to hear the story of how he and Louis met from his perspective.

Dan comes home from work eventually, and Harry speaks with him briefly as well. Even though he’s Louis’ stepfather, Harry sees a clear affection between Louis and Dan as well. Harry’s heart warms at seeing how loved Louis is. Later in the evening, Dan takes the twins upstairs to get ready for bed, leaving Harry, Louis, and Jay alone.

“I’ll never forget when he visited after he met you,” Jay tells Harry fondly.

“Oh, Mother –” Louis cuts in, blushing fiercely. “You don’t need to tell him that.”

“Yes I do,” Jay insists, silencing Louis’ protests before turning back to Harry. “He just went on and on about how he’d met the most intriguing and fascinating man. And handsome, too. My boy was smitten, and I knew right then that you’d be it for him.” Jay smiles at Harry, and Harry can see genuine affection in her eyes. “And I’m glad you are.” She takes Harry’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “We may have only met this afternoon, but I can just tell how wonderful you are. I’m so happy you’ve found one another.”

Harry and Louis smile at one another, and Harry feels so incredibly thankful.

“I’m so happy, too,” Harry says. “Thank you for being so welcoming and kind to me.”

“I know you’ll take good care of one another,” Jay replies. “Any fool could see how much you two care for another.”

“Well, I love your son very much,” Harry says. He smiles at Jay first and then at Louis. Louis’ expression is fond and content. “And I feel very fortunate that he loves me.”

Jay turns to Louis and kisses his cheek. They share a private smile, Jay brushing Louis’ hair out of his face. “A mother always wants to keep her children forever,” she says softly. “But if we have to let them go, we hope that they find someone who loves them as fiercely and completely as they deserve.” Jay looks back at Harry. “I believe Louis has found that in you, Harry. And for that, I am truly, truly thankful.”

Harry can hardly respond, knowing that no words will be sufficient. He kisses Jay’s cheek and promises, “I will love him always.”

They retire not long after, Harry and Louis sleeping in the guest room.

Harry had wondered at first if Jay would insist they sleep in separate rooms, but Harry is pleased to learn that Jay’s ideology is just as progressive as her son’s. She doesn’t bat an eyelid as they head upstairs together, calling good night to them.

As Harry and Louis crawl into bed together, Louis wraps his arms around Harry, pressing kisses to his face. “I’m so happy,” Louis whispers.

“Yeah?” Harry asks, voice quiet and hopeful.

Louis nods. “I knew my family would love you. I knew you’d be amazing with them. I’m so, so happy.”

“They’re incredible,” Harry says. “Your mother, Louis, wow. She’s such an amazing woman. I can tell that so many of the qualities I love about you came from her.”

“That means so much to hear you say that. I think she’s the greatest person in the world.”

“You’ve made her very proud.”

“I hope so.”

“I’m certain.”

Louis smiles. “Family is the most important thing in the world to me. And when we mate, you will become my family. My alpha, my life partner, my mate. My family will become your family, and your family will become my family. So it makes me so happy to see you with my mother and with Dan and with the twins. To see them fall in love with you just like I have.”

“I’m excited for them to become my family, too,” Harry says. “And for you to become my family.”

Louis leans up so that the words brush against Harry’s lips. “For us to become one.”

 

Harry and Louis stay in Doncaster for several days. Harry meets Phoebe and Daisy, Louis’ only other siblings he hasn’t met yet. They only stop by for the day, but Harry instantly takes a liking to them. They share the same quick sense of humor as Louis and are always quick to tease him. They tell Harry story after story about Louis when they were kids, how he practically raised them.

“He was always really good to us,” Phoebe says, “except that one time with the pantry. Do you remember, Daisy?”

“Oh yes!” Daisy laughs. “We couldn’t have been more than three, could we?” She turns to Harry, eyes wide. “It’s one of my earliest memories because it was just so traumatic!”

“I really don’t think you need to tell Harry this –” Louis says, vainly trying to change the topic.

“Oh, I think we do,” Phoebe says. “Harry needs to know what kind of man he’s chosen.”

Harry laughs, curiosity piqued. “Now you have to tell me. I need to know what I’m getting myself into.” He winks at Louis. “It’s not too late to back out, you know.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but Harry can see a smile on his lips.

“Well, as I remember it,” Daisy says, “we were being our perfectly pleasant selves one day –”

“They were being absolute terrors,” Louis cuts in. He shoots the twins an unimpressed look. “If you’re going to tell this story, you need to tell it right.”

The twins simultaneously roll their eyes, and Harry laughs.

“Fine, maybe we weren’t being on our best behavior,” Daisy concedes.

“They were awful,” Louis says. “One was screaming and crying while the other was running around the house naked. I was trying to corral both of them and it just wasn’t working.”

“So what did you do, Louis?” Phoebe asks, looking pointedly at her brother.

Louis glares right back at his sisters. “If you think I’m saying it, then you’re crazy.”

“He locked us in the pantry!” Daisy exclaims. “For hours!”

“I left some food and water in there for you,” Louis insists loudly over Harry’s gasp.

“Louis – that’s awful!” Harry exclaims.

“They just wouldn’t be quiet,” Louis says. “I’d tried everything and I was just sick and tired of it. I didn’t know what else to do at that point.”

“So you locked them in a pantry?” Harry asks, unable to stifle his laughter.

“It was traumatizing,” Phoebe insists. “I remember just sitting in the dark thinking I was going to be trapped there for the rest of my life.”

“Please, our housekeeper found you within the hour,” Louis says.

“Mother nearly skinned him alive when she found out,” Daisy tells Harry.

Louis nods, laughing. “I remember never being so afraid in my life.”

“In all fairness, that was the first and only time he ever locked us in the pantry,” Daisy concedes. “And he hasn’t done it to Ernest and Doris yet, so maybe he’s changed.”

Louis rolls his eyes as Harry laughs. “Yes, I believe I’ve progressed past locking people in pantries when they’re annoying me.” He nods at Harry, saying to the twins, “Haven’t done it to this one yet, either.”

Harry playfully swats at Louis as the twins laugh.  

Harry loves listening to stories about Louis taking care of Daisy and Phoebe, even the horror stories. His heart swells whenever he sees Ernest and Doris look at Louis with clear adoration in their eyes. Louis is wonderful with children – funny and playful while gentle and affectionate.

Seeing Louis constantly surrounded by children and hearing how good he is raising kids has Harry constantly thinking about what it will be like when he and Louis someday have their own babies. He knows that Louis will love their children with his entire being, will care for them and provide for them and make sure that they grow up to be wonderful, kind-hearted individuals.

Harry can’t wait to start a family with Louis.

After several days in Doncaster, Harry and Louis bid the Tomlinson-Deakins farewell. From Doncaster, they travel to a small village in Cheshire called Holmes Chapel where Harry’s mother, Anne, lives.

Now that Harry has successfully met Louis’ parents, he has a wonderful time teasing Louis about his nerves during the journey. Louis is constantly fixing his hair, sweeping his fringe out of his eyes with delicate fingers.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you this,” Harry teases, “but my mother really loved the last man I was courting. His name was Orlando and he was from Spain. We had to end our courtship because he had to move back to Madrid to care for his grandmother, but my mother never really got over it.”

“You shit,” Louis grumbles. “I’m fucking nervous. I was nothing but helpful when we were going to my mother’s. You’re not helping.”

Harry pretends to sniffle, continuing as if Louis didn’t speak, “And to be honest, I don’t think I ever got over him either. I keep waiting for him to come back. I hold onto the hope that someday he will.”

“I hate you,” Louis declares. “And you’ve never courted anyone named Orlando.”

“Oh, you’re right,” Harry says. Louis is briefly smug before Harry continues, “His name was Eduardo.”

As Harry predicted, Anne loves Louis. Anne loves listening to Louis’ stories from New York, and like Jay, she insists on hearing the story of how they met from Louis’ point of view. She coos affectionately as Louis speaks about how he was smitten with Harry from the start, and Harry can’t help but smile fondly as he watches his mother fall in love with Louis.

Gemma and Isobel come and stay for a couple of days. As soon as she arrives, Gemma pulls Louis right into a hug. She tells him, just loud enough for Harry to hear, “That first night you and Harry met, he insisted on telling me that there was nothing going on between the two of you, even though I could tell something was. I am very pleased that I was right and he was wrong.”

Louis laughs and embraces Gemma, kissing her cheek. “Me too.”

As Harry and Louis visit with Harry’s family, Louis gets his revenge. He listens in horror as Gemma and Anne tell stories of Harry as a child, and even Isobel joins in with embarrassing stories of Harry from the past year. Harry groans at each story, but he can’t help but be secretly pleased. He loves watching Louis laugh with his family, even if it’s at Harry’s own expense. It’s a small price to pay to see Louis welcomed so readily into his family.

However, Anne does sit down with them one afternoon and questions them about their plans.

“So you’re planning on mating in a couple weeks’ time?” Anne asks them.

“Yes,” Harry replies, Louis echoing.

“That’s very exciting. I remember when I mated with your father, Harry,” Anne smiles wistfully. “It’s such an incredible feeling. Your whole world realigns in the absolute best way.”

“I’m very excited,” Louis says, squeezing Harry’s hand.

Anne nods. “Have you thought about the future at all? Will you be living together?”

Thankfully, Harry and Louis have discussed all of this already, so neither feels blindsided by the questions.

“We’re in the process of looking for a house together,” Harry says. “We’ve practically been living together for a little while now, so once we mate, we’ll just continue as we have been until we find a house that suits us and our plans for the future.”

Louis smiles fondly at Harry, as he does anytime Harry hints at their future family.

“That sounds very sensible,” Anne muses. “What about marriage?”

Harry smiles at Louis, feeling almost bashful at the mention of the topic.

Louis takes Harry’s hand in his. “We are not in any rush to marry. We have discussed it, and we know it’s what we both eventually want. But right now, what is most important to us is to bind our souls. We will bind ourselves legally to one another eventually, but it is not our priority right now.” Louis looks at Harry, and Harry nods. “But someday, we will.”

“Yes,” Harry agrees. “Someday we will.”

Anne smiles at them. “I’m very happy for both of you.” They return her smile and then Anne asks, “How about your work in London, Louis?”

“At the moment, I only have to travel down to London about twice a year,” Louis replies. “Harry and I have decided that when his schedule allows, he will join me.”

“A lot of my business comes from London as well,” Harry says, “so there would be work for me to do when I do join Louis.”

“My father has a home in Chelsea where he stays when he works. He said he’d be happy to let us stay there when we come down.”

“And hopefully,” Harry adds, “if I ever decide to open up a mill in London, we’d be able to buy our own home there. But right now that isn’t our highest concern.”

“Yes,” Louis agrees. “We’re very happy in Manchester right now, and the plan is to stay here for the long term.”

“Without a doubt,” Harry says. “Manchester is home.”

Anne nods thoughtfully. “It sounds like you’ve both thought a lot about this.”  

Harry and Louis nod.

“We want to build a life together,” Harry says, squeezing Louis’ hand. “That’s not something either of us take lightly.”

“We’ve had multiple discussions about it,” Louis agrees, “and I’m sure we’ll have even more over the coming months.”

Anne smiles. “You both have good heads on your shoulders.” She reaches over to them, taking their free hands in hers, joining them in a circle. “I look forward to when we all become a family.”

Harry and Louis stay in Holmes Chapel a couple of more days before finally heading back to Manchester. Anne makes them promise they’ll come back for the Christmas holidays, to which Harry and Louis agree. She kisses both their cheeks and waves farewell.

Louis settles into Harry’s arms as the carriage leaves the village, heading north towards the city.

“I think that went really well,” Louis says, fingers tangled with Harry’s.

Harry kisses the top of Louis’ head. “I agree. We’re becoming one family.”

Harry can feel Louis’ smile even though he can’t see it. “We are. It makes me incredibly happy.”

Louis raises their joined hands to his lips, kissing Harry’s knuckles as Harry agrees, “Me too.”

 

Louis comes over the evening before Harry’s rut begins.

Harry has felt restless all day – his work at the mill could not hold his interest and he felt like he couldn’t sit still. Harry often feels this way before his ruts begin, but it is amplified this time because it will be his first rut that he spends with his omega. It will be the rut where he mates with his omega, where they bond for life.

When Louis arrives at his house, Harry immediately takes Louis into his arms, burying his face into his neck and breathing in his familiar scent, calming him.

Louis’ arms wrap around him, hands stroking his back gently.

“Has it begun already?” Louis asks softly.

Harry shakes his head. “No, but I can feel it coming on. Missed you so much all day.”

Louis laughs quietly. “I missed you, too.”

They stand in the entryway for several moments, just holding one another. Harry knows that the next few days will be so important for both him and Louis. They will finally be mated, and he knows they’re both ready. Regardless, he can’t help but feel a swell of nerves. He wants to be gentle and good to Louis during his rut, even though he knows he’ll be desperate and impatient, constantly wanting to knot the omega in his bed.

“I want to be good to you,” Harry murmurs against Louis’ neck.

Louis huffs a laugh. “You’ll still be you.” Louis leans back to look Harry in the eyes. “You’re my alpha, and at some point during your rut, you’re going to become my mate. It is your very nature to be good to me, your very nature to take care of me. When you’re in your rut, you’re going to be deeper into your alpha nature than you normally are.” Louis smiles. “If anything, I think you’ll be even gentler, even better to me than usual. And you usually are amazing to me so…” Louis shrugs. “I’m not worried.”

Harry smiles, giving Louis a gentle kiss. “You’re right.”

“I often am,” Louis smirks.

Harry rolls his eyes, but today, he doesn’t protest. “Don’t know why I feel so nervous,” Harry confesses.

Louis smiles. “I feel it, too, but it’s the best kind of nerves. And remember, we’re not going to mate until after the first couple of times, so you can just make love to me like normal. We can mate once you don’t feel so much out of your head.”

Harry nods, thankful that he and Louis decided that. He wants to feel as present as possible for the mating, and he won’t feel that way until he’s had several orgasms.

“I know,” Harry assures Louis. He takes Louis’ hand in his and guides him towards the staircase. “Let’s go upstairs.”

With a soft smile, Louis follows.

 

Harry and Louis dine together. It’s a quiet evening; they don’t really say much. Their feet stay hooked underneath the table as the food is brought to them. They share smiles throughout the meal, and Harry feels butterflies in his stomach every time he as much as looks at Louis. Knowing what they’re about to undertake together makes him feel shy and nervous, yet young and excited.

They retire to bed together after dinner. Although Harry knows his rut is still several hours away, he doesn’t wish for Louis to stray too far from him. He keeps Louis close by his side, gently touching him at random just to feel him. Louis, as well, seems to be responding to Harry’s approaching rut. He is softer, more docile, molding easily and willingly to Harry’s every touch.

Harry and Louis fall asleep tangled together, just as they always do.

When Harry awakens, his body is on fire.

It is not a slowly burning fire, a spark that has fanned into flames. No, it is all-consuming, burning from his head to his toes. It is relentless and inescapable. He feels as if he’s standing in a furnace, flames surrounding him, lapping at his feet, rising above his head.

Harry groans deeply, eyes opening as he kicks the blankets off of him. His body is doused in sweat, and his cock strains against his underwear.

But most of all, through the fire, Harry can smell roses.

Louis’ scent is just as consuming as the heat coursing through Harry’s body. It is a thick fog in the room, filling every corner and clouding into Harry’s mind. All he can think about is tasting that scent, feeling Louis’ slickness, sinking his fingers, his cock, into Louis’ dripping hole and filling him up like they were made to be.

“Louis,” Harry groans. He doesn’t wait for a response before putting his hands on Louis’ waist, feeling the warmth of his skin. He attaches his mouth to Louis’ neck and begins kissing it greedily, sloppily.

Louis whimpers in his sleep before jerking awake. “Harry,” Louis gasps, turning slightly in his arms to touch Harry’s face. “It’s started?”

Harry can barely nod. Now that Louis is awake, Harry doesn’t hold back. Harry thrusts his hips wantonly against the cleft of Louis’ arse, and he already feels as if he’s going to burst.

“Need to knot you,” Harry grits out. He mouths up to Louis’ jaw before catching his mouth in a kiss. The kiss is wet and deep, both Harry’s and Louis’ bodies calling to one another. “Please, Louis.”

“Okay, okay,” Louis says, and the words sound like static to Harry. He can barely understand, too busy pulling Louis’ underwear down so that he can put his hands on Louis’ arse. Why did they fall asleep with clothing on? “You can, you can,” Louis continues, “but I have to be open first. Hold on, my love, and I’ll do it.”

“No,” Harry grabs Louis’ wrist as Louis reaches behind himself. Louis looks up at Harry, a question in his eyes. “Let me do it.” It sounds more like a command than a request, but all of a sudden, fingering open Louis feels just as important as knotting him. He needs to prep his omega well, needs to take care of him just like he said he would, before he knots him. He needs to show how good of an alpha he is; how well he can take care of his omega. Prepping Louis for his knot is part of that.

Louis nods, withdrawing his hand. Harry kisses Louis fiercely, sucking on his tongue before crawling between Louis’ legs. Louis leans against the pillows, spreading his legs for Harry. Harry quickly removes his own underwear, eager to be naked in his bed with his omega.

Louis plants his feet on the bed, and Harry quickly reaches for a pillow to slip underneath Louis’ back.

“Are you comfortable?” Harry asks, needing to know.

“Yes, my love,” Louis replies softly. “I am.”

Harry nods before reaching between Louis’ legs. He wastes no time with teasing, immediately sinking one finger into Louis.

“Oh, Harry,” Louis gasps, clenching involuntarily around his finger.

Louis is slick and hot inside, and Harry groans as he feels the wetness drip down his finger, sliding down his palm. Harry pumps his finger in and out of Louis’ body, which takes him easily.

“You feel so fucking good, baby,” Harry grits out, exhaling heavily. “Want to stay inside you all the time.”

Louis moans, hips rocking down onto Harry’s finger. Louis’ hands come up to Harry’s neck, stroking beneath his ears. “Kiss me,” Louis breathes.

Harry crashes their mouths together, drinking in Louis’ taste. Louis’ back arches, pressing their bodies closer together before he grinds back down on Harry’s finger, body torn in both directions.

Harry sinks a second finger into Louis, scissoring his fingers quickly. He won’t neglect in his prep of Louis, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want Louis ready as soon as possible. He stretches his fingers, searching for Louis’ spot. Harry finds it easily, Louis’ eyes fluttering closed as Harry strokes his prostate, a broken moan falling from his lips.

“Gonna come,” Louis gasps, eyes tightly shut.

God, Harry wants that. He wants to watch his omega come. He wants to make Louis feel incredible, wants to give him everything he wants. So Harry wraps a hand around Louis’ cock, strokes it as he presses against Louis’ spot with his other hand, and Louis cries out, thrusting wantonly as he begins to come.

Harry groans at the sight, continuing to stroke Louis’ cock and play with his hole. Regardless that he is the one in rut, taking care of Louis will always be his top priority. Making Louis come will always be the most important thing. Watching Louis come will always be the most arousing thing Harry could possibly witness, pushing himself even closer to orgasm.

Louis is lax against the sheets as Harry slips a third finger into his hole. Louis’ body is almost ready for him; Harry can feel it. Harry focuses on the sound of Louis’ breathing as he continues to finger him. Each hitch of breath, each broken whine, is the most beautiful music. Harry loves seeing what sounds he can draw out of Louis, and when he’s in the midst of his rut, it only makes Harry harder.

While Harry continues to finger open Louis, Louis lazily takes Harry’s come covered hand in his. With heavily lidded eyes, Louis lifts Harry’s hand to his mouth and gently begins sucking the come off Harry’s fingers. Harry groans, dropping his head momentarily like the sight is too much for him. Louis cleans him lovingly, each lick and suck a gentle caress.

As Louis finishes, he presses a soft kiss to Harry’s palm. “Please, Harry, I’m ready,” Louis murmurs against his skin, a quiet plea. “Need your knot.”

Harry moans, unable to resist. He withdraws his fingers, and his mouth waters with the desperate need to taste. He sucks on his fingers, the taste of Louis’ slick delicious and familiar on his tongue. Harry’s eyes flutter shut in pleasure as he listens to Louis whine.

“Alpha,” Louis pleads. “Fuck me.”

Harry’s eyes open, locking on Louis’. Louis’ expression is desperate, legs still spread wide, cock hard again against his stomach.

Harry can’t even respond, only a deep growl resonating in his chest. He leans down to press a firm, deep kiss to Louis’ mouth.

“I love you, my omega,” Harry whispers.

“I love you, my alpha,” Louis responds, stroking Harry’s cheek.

Harry pushes into Louis slowly, but Louis’ body takes him easily, greedily. He is wet and open, but still feels hot and tight. Harry and Louis moan simultaneously, and Harry reaches for Louis’ hand. Their fingers tangle together, palms flush, as Harry squeezes Louis’ hand.

Once Harry is pressed deep inside, he looks at Louis. Louis watches him, eyes wide and desperate with desire, lips parted as he breathes unevenly.

“Are you ready?” Harry asks.

Louis nods frantically. “Yes, God, yes. Fuck me, Harry, please –”

Harry wastes no time starting slow and gentle. His whole body still burns, and it feels like the only way Harry will feel any relief is by coming. His thrusts start quick and hard, and Harry doesn’t relent on his pace. Louis cries out as Harry slams inside of him, precome dripping all over his abdomen. He clenches around Harry, the pressure perfect. Louis’ name falls from Harry’s lips in an endless litany.

They breathe heavily against one another, Harry keeping himself close to Louis. He feels each of Louis’ exhalations against his lips, and Harry savors the taste. Savors each puff of air that comes from Louis’ lips as they share their air. They share the very thing that keeps them alive, their bodies joined together and breathing in sync.

“I love you,” Louis whispers shakily, squeezing Harry’s hand. “Can never tell you enough.”

Harry moans, feeling himself tumbling towards the edge. His knot swells, ready to lock inside of Louis, ready to burst.

“My perfect alpha,” Louis continues. “You take such good care of me and love me so well. Could never hope for a better alpha than you.” Louis laughs breathlessly. “I’d never want an alpha other than you.”

“Louis,” Harry gasps, “I’m so close.”

“Come for me,” Louis pleads. “Always look so beautiful when you do, always make me feel so amazing. Come for me, Harry, my alpha, my love –”

Harry cries out, thrusting deep into Louis and then holding himself there as their bodies lock together and Harry begins to come. Louis presses their foreheads together, whispering words of love as Harry shakes through his orgasm. Louis follows him over the edge easily without even a hand on his cock, gasping breathlessly as he spills onto his own stomach. They stay pressed close together, their bodies joined together as alpha and omega.

As Harry finishes coming, he can feel the fire in his veins dimming to a cool burn. The fire still burns, but it is not as consuming anymore. The sweet release of an orgasm, of knotting his omega, has calmed the fire.

Harry kisses Louis’ face as they come down, still locked together. Louis’ hands are gentle on Harry’s neck, wiping away his sweat, scratching at his scalp. They whisper words of love and promise into each other’s mouths, holding one another close.

When they’re eventually able to separate, Harry cleans Louis carefully, affectionately. Louis watches him the whole time with a soft, sleepy expression on his face.

The orgasm has given Harry enough relief that he feels he can go back to sleep at least for a little bit. He did just wake Louis up in the middle of the night, so he knows his omega must still be exhausted.

Harry curls around Louis, their naked bodies flush against one another and hearts aligned.

 

They pass the rest of the day in a haze of orgasms and sweat and soft kisses mixed with hard kisses.

Harry is insatiable. The fire in his body continues to burn at a sweltering temperature, and he can’t keep his hands or mouth off of Louis for any substantial length of time.

Louis lets Harry takes his pleasure however he wishes. Harry eats Louis out for what feels like hours, Louis coming in a mess all over his stomach at least thrice before Harry finally sinks inside of him and knots him. Louis sucks Harry’s cock, tongue working expertly over the length while Harry tries to keep his hips still on the bed. When Harry comes, Louis takes every bit of come that Harry releases, swallowing it down greedily.

Sometimes Harry will make love to him short and quick, nothing but grunts falling from their lips as Harry punches his hips back and forth. Other times, they take their time, words of love whispered with kisses long and deep. Harry makes love to Louis slowly, savoring every touch of his body, the feel of Louis tight and wet around him. The words alpha and omega are a breathless prayer between them, promising themselves to one another forever.

They fall asleep eventually, Harry momentarily sated but exhausted. When they wake up, they send for some food. Harry and Louis are both ravenous, and Harry will not neglect in his care for his omega. They eat and drink greedily, refueling and rehydrating. By the time they finish their meal, Harry’s cock is hard between his legs again, Louis’ scent calling to him. Harry and Louis discard the empty tray onto the floor next to the bed, and fall freely into one another.

 

“How are you feeling?” Louis asks, fingers light on Harry’s chest.

It’s the following morning, the sunlight shining weakly through the curtains. Harry only woke Louis up once in the night, too hard and desperate to sleep peacefully. Harry has heard before that ruts tend to be shorter when done with one’s omega, and so far, that seems true. His orgasms are more deeply satisfying, and while he feels more desperate to knot the omega in his bed than he ever has before in his rut, that desperation is balanced with an even deeper contentment of knowing that he’s knotting the man he loves.

Usually his ruts last three to four days, but it’s only the second morning of his rut and he feels relatively calm and relaxed. He can still feel the fire burning in his body, but it’s more of a steady simmer than a consuming, devastating fire.

“I feel wonderful,” Harry answers truthfully, stroking Louis’ cheek. “I feel so deeply pleasured and in love and happy and satisfied because I’m spending my rut with my omega.”

“Good.” Louis smiles, eyes crinkling as he leans forward to gently kiss Harry.

“How do you feel?” Harry asks. He’s checked in with Louis as often as he could, but that doesn’t mean he still doesn’t fear he unintentionally took things too far.

“A bit sore,” Louis confesses, “but in the best way.” He smiles, tweaking Harry’s nipple. “Like my hole is going to be permanently wet and loose.”

Harry grins, kissing Louis again. “That sounds good to me.”

Louis laughs. “It would, wouldn’t it? You’d keep me ready for you at all times if it was up to you.” Harry doesn’t protest, and Louis smiles. “But it sounds good to me, too.”

They smile at one another in blissful silence for a moment, fingers gentle on the other’s skin.

When Louis speaks again, his voice is shy but happy. “I’m ready for you to mate me.”

The fire that had been simmering suddenly rages up again. Harry’s heart pounds, his hands shake, and his cock swells at Louis’ request.

“Are you sure?” Harry has to ask, unable to keep the tremor out of his voice.

Louis’ smile only seems to grow, and then he nods. “Yes, of course.” Louis chuckles quietly. “I had to bite my tongue to keep from begging for it every time you’ve knotted me so far.”

Harry kisses Louis, but has to break away because of how wide he’s smiling. “I would have, whenever you wanted. But I’m glad we waited because I do feel slightly more present.”

“Which is what we both wanted,” Louis says softly, eyes crinkled fondly.

“It is,” Harry replies, awe in his voice. “I love you,” Harry whispers, stroking the hair out of Louis’ eyes. “I’m ready to mate you, too.”

They meet for a deep kiss, Harry rolling on top of Louis to feel him beneath him. Louis’ arms wrap around Harry’s back, pulling their bodies close together. The kiss starts as a gentle caress, but quickly turns more frantic. Louis’ hands tangle in Harry’s hair, his back arching off the bed so that Harry can feel Louis’ hard cock pressed against him.

Harry kisses down Louis’ neck, but stops before the curve of his shoulder. He doesn’t kiss there, saving it for later. Instead, he lets his lips hover right above the skin, exhaling harshly as his heart pounds in his chest.

“Harry,” Louis gasps, squirming beneath him.

“Later, my love,” Harry whispers, a promise. He’ll bite that spot when he’s knotted inside of Louis, just as their biology requires. Harry knows that this deep into his rut and with his plan to mate his omega, it won’t take much for both him and Louis to be ready.

But first, Harry worships Louis’ body. He lets his mouth trail everywhere, kissing the warm skin reverently, letting his fingers roam aimlessly. Harry listens to Louis’ quiet whines and broken moans as Harry kisses his collarbones, his abdomen, his thighs. Harry suckles lightly on the head of Louis’ cock before moving down to kiss his ankles. Louis reaches for Harry, fingers gently touching the corner of Harry’s mouth. Harry catches Louis’ fingers between his teeth, sucking them into his mouth, letting his tongue lave over them.

“Harry,” Louis breathes. “I am yours.”

Harry releases Louis’ fingers and bends down to place an open mouthed kiss above Louis’ heart. “You are mine,” Harry whispers in awe. “And I am yours.”

Louis places his hands on either side of Harry’s face and brings their mouth together. The kiss is messy, both licking and biting desperately, hands tight on the other’s body.

“Make love to me,” Louis whispers into Harry’s mouth, lips catching on Harry’s. “Make me yours.”

Harry looks at Louis for one charged moment, their eyes both dark with desire. Harry can see nothing but love and certainty in Louis’ expression. They are ready to give themselves to one another completely.

Harry kisses Louis softly. “I will,” he promises.

Harry takes a pillow to prop under Louis’ hips, helping him adjust into a comfortable position. Even though they’ve made love multiple times in the past day, Harry still gently eases his fingers into Louis’ hole. It’s stretched and wet, but Harry still plays with it for a moment, just to make sure Louis is completely ready.

Louis wraps his legs around Harry’s waist, holding him close. Usually, Louis would impatiently demand that Harry hurry up, that he’s ready. But this time, neither rush. They savor each moment, each touch. Harry can feel that Louis is ready, that they both are.

Harry sinks into Louis slowly, feeling like it’s the first time all over again. As their two bodies mold together, Harry can’t help but think about everything that has led to this moment. Their initial meeting and the heated conversation that followed. Harry at first reluctant to the MMIC’s assistance before he readily welcomed it. The first time he scented Louis. How Harry was helpless to fall for Louis each moment they spent together. Their first kiss. The first time they made love. The first time they told one another they loved each other. Every moment has led to this right now – the moment they become one.

“I love you,” Harry whispers, overwhelmed with emotion. He is joined with the man he loves in the most intimate way and they are about to mate. His throat feels thick, his eyes burn.

The same emotion is reflected back in Louis’ eyes. He reaches for Harry’s face, touching his cheek softly. “I love you, too,” Louis replies.

They share a watery smile, suspended in the moment, two hearts beating as one.

Slowly, they begin moving together, like a perfectly tuned machine, working in sync. Harry rocks back and forth, Louis rolling his hips to meet each one of Harry’s thrusts. Gradually, their pace increases, like a train gaining speed. Harry feels sweat beading at his temples, his breath already coming short and shallow.

With each thrust, the fire in Harry’s body only builds. It’s as if his body knows what it’s about to do, and it burns with a fresh new desire to not only knot his omega, but to mate with him. To join them together for life. Harry’s heart thuds erratically in his chest just thinking about it, but making love to Louis calms him. It’s something he knows how to do, has perfected like a master and his art.

Louis reaches for Harry’s face, fingertips burning against Harry’s skin. Louis’ eyes are locked on Harry’s face, and Harry can’t look away either. He watches each flutter of Louis’ eyelashes when Harry thrusts into him right. He sees each hitch of breath, each wave of pleasure that washes over Louis’ face. He watches as Louis bites his lip in a vain attempt to hold back his moans, before freeing them with reckless abandon. He sees the sweat trickling down Louis’ temple, the quiver of his lips.

Harry can feel his knot beginning to swell inside of Louis, ready to lock them together for the countless time.

“Louis,” Harry breathes, touching his face. “My love, I’m ready to knot you.”

“Yes, Harry,” Louis gasps, hands grappling to his arse, pushing Harry against him wantonly. “Want it so much.” Louis tilts his neck to the side, a clear invitation. “I’m ready.”

Harry’s breath stutters at the sight of his omega presenting himself so readily for him. He can feel his knot swelling, ready to come.

“Let’s come together,” Harry says, wrapping a hand around Louis’ cock. “Come with me, my love.”

Louis’ eyes flutter, but he struggles to keep them open. “Yes, Harry. Bite me,” he pleads. “Make us one.”

Keeping his eyes on Louis’ face, Harry bends down to Louis’ neck. He only breaks eye contact when he has to, looking down at the golden skin before him. It makes his mouth water, ready to sink into it.

“I love you,” Harry whispers again, needs to make sure Louis knows. He twists his fist on Louis’ cock, and feels his knot lock inside of Louis. He presses a gentle kiss to the curve of Louis’ shoulder, and then sinks his teeth in.

Immediately, Harry’s world explodes in a burst of color and sound. Louis cries out, body shaking violently as he begins to come. Harry’s orgasm bursts out of him, flooding Louis with his release, his body vibrating with pleasure.

Harry’s world instantly realigns, placing Louis at the center. It’s as if Louis has reached inside his chest, and sewn a piece of his heart to Harry’s. And Harry, just as readily, has given Louis half his heart, stitched it into chest where it will stay forever.

He can taste Louis’ scent bleeding into his body, the scent of roses becoming just as much a part of him as his own skin. And likewise, Harry can feel himself bleeding into Louis. His alpha scent settling into Louis, a piece of Harry that Louis will always take with him.

They have already identified themselves as true mates, but as the mating bite takes hold, it’s as if a fire is lit inside of them. Harry’s fire, already burning inside of him, catches with Louis’ fire. Both their souls burn brightly together, united as one.

“My alpha,” Louis gasps, hands soothing on Harry’s back. “Finally. Officially. Forever. My alpha.”

Harry leans back only slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to the bite mark before bringing his mouth to Louis’. The kiss feels like none and all of their kisses before. It feels new, it feels familiar. It feels jarring, it feels comforting.

“My omega,” Harry breathes, voice shaking. Louis’ hands are on Harry’s face, wiping away his tears. Harry didn’t even realize he was crying, but he can see tears also on Louis’ cheeks. Harry kisses Louis’ palm before kissing away the tears on his face. “My omega. I love you, I love you,” Harry whispers like a mantra. “My mate, my true mate. I’ll love you forever.”

When their lips meet again, it’s a kiss of love and devotion, between two people who have become one, united forever.

 

“When you were young, what did you think it would be like when you mated?”

Harry blinks his eyes open lazily at Louis’ question. Louis’ head rests on his chest, their hands tangled together, their breathing even and deep.

His rut has ebbed on the third day, the shortest he’s ever had in his life. But he and Louis both are loath to leave the bed. They’ve cracked open the window to let in a breeze, but Harry is even reluctant to dissipate the smell of sex and their scents that is so thick in the room.

Harry presses a kiss to the mark that is now etched into Louis’ shoulder. He feels a tingle through his whole body when he touches the mark, his body recognizing his mate. Harry has had difficulty doing anything other than kiss that spot since he finally placed his mating bite there.

“When I was young,” Harry begins, “I couldn’t wait to mate.”

Harry can feel Louis smile. “I can imagine that. You’re such a romantic.”

Harry smiles, nuzzling at the nape of Louis’ neck. He breathes in his sweet scent, feels the softness of Louis’ hair against his cheek. “I was in love with love as a child. I remember telling my mother that I wanted to mate with my teddy bear because I loved it so much.”

Louis snorts, and Harry chuckles quietly.

“I imagine Anne talked you out of that,” Louis says.

Harry grins. “She explained to me that people don’t mate everything they love. That I could love people without mating them. But mating was for that one special person I would want to spend the rest of my life with. The person I would want to be one with.”

“What did you think then?” Louis asks.

“I wanted it even more,” Harry confesses. “I wanted to fall in love. Wanted to find someone to share my life with. When I finally presented as an alpha, I thought every omega would be the one. I wanted them to be. But they just never were, as you can tell.”

“Yes,” Louis snorts. “I can tell.”

“But when my grandfather died, the mill became my life. Finding a mate fell to the side, and by the time I could think about it again, most people were already mated. I just thought maybe it wasn’t in the cards for me. That I wouldn’t get to fall in love and mate. And I was alright with that. And then I met you.”

“And then you met me,” Louis repeats, awe in his voice.

Harry kisses their mark again, has to. “And now I have everything.” Harry smiles as Louis squeezes his hand. “What about you? What did you think it would be like?”

“Honestly, I didn’t want to mate,” Louis confesses.

Harry’s brow furrows, Louis turning in his arms to look at him. “Really?”

Louis nods. “I thought the bite would hurt. I didn’t like the idea of that.” Louis reaches up so that his thumb runs over Harry’s lips. Harry presses a gentle kiss to the pad of Louis’ thumb, wanting to show that he would never hurt Louis. “Of course, I didn’t understand as a child how much I would want to be bitten, when I was in the heat of the moment with the man I love. How incredibly amazing it would feel when he did bite me.”

Harry breathes a small sigh of relief, nuzzling into Louis’ hand. “When did you change your mind?”

“When my mother mated Dan, and I saw how in love two people could be,” Louis says. “I had been becoming more receptive to the idea of mating, but it wasn’t until I saw them together that I understood how happy two people could make one another. So that decided it for me. I wanted to mate, but like you, I wanted to wait until it was the right person. I wanted to fall in love.”

“I’m glad we waited for one another,” Harry says quietly, like a confession. “I couldn’t imagine loving anyone else the way I love you. I couldn’t imagine anyone making me happy like you do.”

“We’re forever, you and me,” Louis replies, smiling at Harry. “True mates.”

Harry smiles, brushing Louis’ hair out of his face before kissing his mark again. His body tingles again at the touch, and Harry knows that his heart will forever belong to the man in his arms. “True mates.”

 

Harry falls in love with the house on the square as soon as he sets foot inside.

Harry catches Louis’ eye while they’re still in the entry hall, and Harry knows that Louis is just as mesmerized as he is.

The house is larger than the one he currently lives in, brighter and more spacious without seeming imposing. The drawing room is grand and open, and would be perfect for entertaining. Harry can easily imagine inviting their families or friends over for dinner, sitting around with drinks in their hands while they talk and laugh.

The master bedroom has large windows overlooking the square and the dining room has an elegantly curved wall. But what Harry loves most about the house is all the empty rooms. The rooms that don’t yet have a use, but someday will. The rooms that will someday be filled with children.

The landlord gives them a moment alone as they stand in the nursery.

Louis’ hand slips into Harry’s as they gaze around the room.

“The crib would go there,” Louis says quietly, pointing towards the corner of the room by the window. “So every day when our baby wakes up, they can look outside and see the world waiting for them.”

Harry smiles, feeling tears prick the back of his eyes.

“We’d come up every morning to wake them up,” Harry says, the scene unfolding naturally before his eyes. “Sometimes they’d be up all night crying, and one of us would stay up here rocking them back to sleep. And sometimes they would already be awake, happy to see us and ready to start the day. But sometimes, they’d still be sleeping, and we’d get to stand here and watch them, and think about the life we created together.”

“Harry, this house is perfect.”

Harry nods. “It is.”

“It’s so close to the MMIC offices, and it’s only five minutes further to the mill.”

“Yes.”

Louis turns to look at Harry, his eyes wide and hopeful. “Harry, I want to raise our family here.”

Harry’s smile wobbles as he takes Louis into his arms, kissing the top of his head. “I want that, too.”

Louis looks up at him, a smile on his face. They meet for a kiss, both smiling too wide to kiss properly. Harry feels happiness burst like a bubble in his chest, hugging Louis tightly to him.

“We’ll take it!” Harry calls over his shoulder to the landlord before leaning down to give Louis another kiss.

 

A month later in October, the house officially becomes Harry and Louis’ home.

They fill each room with a blending of their lives – Harry’s books next to Louis’ books, their clothes hanging side by side in the wardrobe. Their furniture mixes in with new pieces. Louis’ painting of Doncaster hangs in their entry way. Their butlers and maids and footmen form a new family of their own.

They settle comfortably into life with one another, as they had practically been living together even before becoming mates. Harry loves waking up each morning to the sight of Louis in his arms, knowing that they are both home. That he doesn’t have to worry about Louis’ scent fading from the sheets when he doesn’t come over for a few nights. That even if they have to rush off to work in the morning, they will both retire at their home together in the evening.

They are together, they are mates, and Harry has never been so happy.

 

The house is still and quiet. Harry and Louis sleep peacefully in the master bedroom, tangled together. The fire in the hearth crackles, warming the room from the winter’s chill.

In the servant’s quarters, the sudden sound of a bell pierces the still night, rousing the servants from their sleep. The ringing is insistent and frantic, but does not sound in Harry’s and Louis’ room. They sleep on as Jones rushes to the front door to find out who could be calling at such a late hour.

Moments later, a loud and persistent knocking on their door abruptly wakes Harry up from his sleep.

Groggily, he sits up, Louis rousing beside him. “What is it?” Harry asks, confused as he fights a yawn. His eyes fall to the clock by the bed, showing him that it’s half past four in the morning. “Come in,” he calls as the knocking continues.

Jones rushes inside, eyes wide and chest heaving.

“What is it, Jones?” Harry asks, feeling panic rise in his chest. His butler would never disturb him in the middle of the night if it wasn’t important. Louis sits up next to him, also realizing that something must be wrong.

“Sir,” Jones gasps, out of breath. “The mill – Hampton – fire!”

“What?” Harry exclaims, suddenly feeling very awake.

“Hampton is on fire!”

“Fucking shit,” Harry swears, scrambling out of bed. He throws his nightgown over his pajamas, Louis right beside him, dressing quickly.

“The fire brigade has been alerted,” Jones continues, “but someone came by to make sure you knew as well.”

“Thank you, Jones,” Harry replies, moving swiftly towards the door.

“Should I fetch the carriage, sir?” Jones asks.

“No,” Harry dismisses. “It’ll take too long to rouse the horses and get them ready. It’ll be faster if we run.”

“Yes, sir,” Jones replies.

Harry turns to Louis. “Stay here,” he says, but even as he says it, he knows it’s futile.

“I’m coming with you,” Louis declares. “And we’re not wasting time arguing about this. Come on.”

Louis grasps Harry’s hand and they race down the stairs, spilling into the street.

The street remains still, despite the chaos roaring in Harry’s head. He is on survival mode. He needs to get to the mill as fast as he can, save what he can. Panic squeezes his lungs, making it difficult for him to run as he imagines Hampton engulfed in flames. His mill, his life’s work, his legacy, burning to the ground.

These dark thoughts spur him to move faster, his feet barely connecting with the pavement as he moves quickly through the dark Manchester streets. Louis stays right by his side, pace never faltering, hand still clasped in Harry’s, grounding him.

After everything he’d done, all the safety features and precautions Harry had taken to prevent Hampton from ever experiencing a fire, and now it has happened. His breathing comes short and choppy, a mixture of panic and exertion making it difficult for him to breathe.

As Harry and Louis arrive closer to Hampton, the streets are no longer quiet. He can hear shouting, people running, the sound of flames licking into the sky. Harry absently thinks of the fire crackling quietly in his bedroom, keeping him and Louis warm. This fire is the same familiar sound, but amplified, more intense. It is like a lion’s roar, deafening and devastating.

He can see smoke rising into the air before he sees Hampton. The smoke is like a grey streak of paint across the darkened night sky, slightly illuminated from the fierce light of the fire.

Harry’s pace does not relent as he turns the corner, coming before Hampton. At the sight of his mill, he stops in his tracks.

Flames rise into the sky, malicious and consuming. They light up the darkened streets around them, the flames making the mill glow a bright yellow. It would almost be beautiful if it wasn’t so destructive, if it wasn’t taking away everything Harry’s ever worked for.

A blast of water cuts across the sky, and Harry turns to see the fire brigade shooting water at the flames. As Harry watches the water douse the flames, he realizes that there’s still a fighting chance. The fire brigade isn’t just waiting for the fire to consume everything and die out; no, they’re actively fighting it. There’s still a chance.

Harry begins running towards the fire brigade, Louis close at his heels. The street is crowded with people, chaotic. Everyone is yelling, the words blending together into a nonsensical buzz. Harry looks for familiar faces in the crowd, anyone who can help him.

“Mr. Styles! Louis!”

A firm grasp to Harry’s shoulder stops him. He turns to see Niall Horan before him, his face streaked with ash, clothes damp, and his hand grasping a bucket full of water, another at his feet.

“Thank God you’re here,” Niall says, frantic yet relieved.

“Do you know if anyone’s inside?” Harry demands. There shouldn’t be; it’s the middle of the night and Hampton is always locked securely at the end of the day. Still, he needs to know.

Niall shakes his head. “No, the fire brigade already checked. Here,” he shoves the buckets into Harry’s and Louis’ hands, water sloshing inside. “We’re throwing water on the flames. Right now the fire brigade says the fire is contained to the outer buildings, so we’re trying to keep it from spreading.”

Harry nods, gripping the bucket tightly.

Then without another word, he and Louis are rushing towards the burning building. Jets of water blast through the sky, raining down and soaking them. Absently, Harry is thankful, knowing the flames won’t be able to catch to him or Louis as easily if their clothes are wet. Other groups of people rush towards the mill as well, buckets of water in their hands. Harry heaves his bucket in the air, letting it pour down on an outer wall. It quells the fire, the flames flickering out as they become soaked with water.

Harry and Louis continue to run back and forth to the water pump and the mill, doing everything they can to help douse the fire. Harry is not conscious of time passing, his mind stuck on his singular mission. He works relentlessly, unable to stop. Harry’s arms ache from lifting the heavy bucket, but he doesn’t stop moving. He feels like he couldn’t stop moving even if he wanted to. Every bucket of water that he carries to the mill helps put out the fire, helps slow its path of destruction. He won’t stop until the fire is completely out, until his mill is safe.

People around him work just as frantically. Harry can sense Louis close at his side at all times, running back and forth carrying pails of water. When he arrives at the water pump, he sees Niall continuing to direct people, handing them buckets filled with water. At one point, he sees Liam Payne running back and forth as well, throwing buckets of water on the more difficult to reach parts of the burning mill.

Harry is not alone as he does everything he can to save his mill. He is surrounded by people working just as tirelessly, just as diligently. As Harry works, he can’t help but feel endlessly grateful that he is not alone.

Sweat spills into his eyes, the heat from the fire and from the exertion of running back and forth dampening Harry’s body with sweat. He wipes at his eyes as he continues to douse the fire. He doesn’t stop until he feels a hand on his arm. Harry’s instinct is to jerk away, to keep running with his pail full of water, but the touch immediately calms him. He recognizes the feel of Louis’ hand on his arm.

Harry turns hastily, chest heaving as he looks at Louis. “We have to keep going!” Harry yells. He tries to turn away again, but Louis’ grip tightens.

“Harry, stop!” Harry looks at Louis, ready to use his alpha voice to demand to be let go, but the soft expression in Louis’ eyes stops him. “Look,” Louis says, pointing towards Hampton.

For the first time since Harry arrived at Hampton, he looks.

The air is hazy around them, smoke in the air, but not as choking or consuming. And as the air clears, Harry can see that Hampton is no longer engulfed in flames. Water from the fire brigade continues to rain down on the charred outer buildings, but the fire is weak, barely flickering.

They’ve stopped it.

The fire hasn’t spread to other parts of the mill. The fire has been contained and, for the most part, has been put out.

Hampton is safe.

Harry begins shaking at the sight before him, adrenaline and exhaustion and relief coursing through him in one powerful, raging storm.

“Louis,” Harry gasps, dropping the bucket to the ground and collapsing into his omega’s arms. His body shakes as Louis holds him, barely able to hold himself upright. Tears streak down his cheeks, and sobs are ripped out of his chest in broken, heaving gasps.

“You’re alright,” Louis whispers, gentle hands rubbing Harry’s back. “Hampton is safe. You are safe. I am safe. We’re going to be alright.”

Louis helps Harry sit down on the pavement, holding one another close as Harry sobs into Louis’ neck. Harry feels exhausted, like he could lie down and sleep for a week and not stir once. He wants to do that – fall asleep with Louis in his arms, undisturbed by the world as they rest. Louis holds onto him tightly, whispering words of love and reassurance, hands never stilling, as he bears Harry’s hurt. As he comforts and cares for his alpha.

Eventually, Harry’s tears dry, his sobs quiet. He leans back to find Louis watching him carefully, affectionately. Harry dries his face on the sleeve of his dressing gown, attempting a wobbly smile. Louis gives him a small smile in return, reaching up to Harry’s face, wiping away his tears with his thumbs.

No words can be said, so Harry just leans into Louis’ side, their arms wrapped around one another.

Night fades to morning. The dark sky fades from inky black to a light blue, colors blending as the sun slowly rises.

Many people leave as the fire is controlled, and the fire brigade finishes up their efforts. Harry watches, unable and unwilling to leave until everything is right again. The fire brigade will speak to him when they’re ready, and until then, Harry is content to wait.

When a figure does approach Harry and Louis, Harry immediately climbs to his feet.

“Liam,” Harry says, voice full of gratitude as he embraces him. “Thank you so much.”

“I’m glad Hampton’s alright,” Liam replies, stepping back before embracing Louis. “I’m glad you both are alright as well.”

Harry nods. “We are.” He looks towards Hampton, the charred remains of the outer buildings. “Do you know what happened?” Harry asks, voice small, trembling.

Liam shakes his head. “I was up early for my shift at the docks – we’ve been getting a lot of shipments in so I’ve been needing to go in early. Anyways, as I was headed to work, I smelled smoke so I ran straight over here. I didn’t see what happened, but Niall was here.”

“Niall?” Harry asks, confused.

Liam nods. “He lives just a block down, and apparently woke up to the sound of the fire alarms going off. He sent for the fire brigade and started rounding people up to help. He even made sure someone sent for you, to make sure you knew what was happening.”

Harry’s brow stitches together. In the chaos of the morning, he hadn’t thought about how someone thought to alert him about the fire. That someone would have had to leave the scene to come let him know, instead of letting him find out in the morning just like everyone else, when it would have been too late to do anything.

“He did that?” Harry asks incredulously. He looks around until he sees Niall standing with the fire brigade, talking intensely with one of the crew.

“Yes,” Liam nods. “He hasn’t stopped since I arrived.”

Louis’ hand slips into Harry’s, giving a gentle squeeze.

“Thank you for telling us this, Liam,” Harry says. “And thank you for helping. Don’t let us keep you if you need to get to your shift.”

Liam waves a hand through the air. “They’ll understand when they hear what happened.” Liam huffs a laugh. “Hampton is one of the companies we receive the most shipments from. My bosses will be glad I didn’t let her burn down.”

Harry and Louis laugh, and Harry shakes Liam’s hand again. “I’m glad, too. Thank you so much again, Liam.”

Liam smiles and nods, before turning and leaving.

Harry and Louis watch him walk away, before Louis turns to Harry.

“You know what you need to do now, right?” Louis says, squeezing Harry’s hand again.

Harry looks down at Louis, seeing love and compassion in his eyes. Harry nods before pressing a kiss to Louis’ forehead. “I do,” he answers. Then he lets go of Louis’ hand and walks towards the fire brigade.

“Excuse me, Niall?”

Niall turns at the sound of Harry’s voice. His eyes widen slightly when he sees Harry stride towards him, but he stands his ground.

Niall looks about as worse for wear as Harry knows he himself looks. Niall’s clothes are covered in ash and damp with water and sweat. His face and hair are covered in grime, expression just as exhausted as Harry feels.

Harry’s body is covered with the same ash, sweat, and grime. His face is still streaked with tears, and his whole body feels filthy. None of this stops him as he reaches his hand out to Niall.

Niall looks down at Harry’s hand with wide eyes, as if he’d been expecting Harry to yell at him instead.

“Thank you,” Harry says, heartfelt and genuine. “Liam told me what you did. Everything you did. You helped save Hampton. Thank you so much.”

Niall smiles, taking Harry’s hand in his. His grip is tight, and his smile is kind. Harry thinks back to when he and Niall first met – the initial awkwardness of their meeting but how through the course of that afternoon, they had seemed to establish a friendly truce. No longer boss and worker, but just two people. Harry feels that way again. They are just two people who fought to save Hampton and succeeded.

“I did what I could,” Niall says humbly, his hand falling to his side. “Anyone would do the same.”

“Perhaps,” Harry concedes, “but you were the one who called for the fire brigade, rounded up people to help, and began trying to douse the flames. My mill would be lost without you, and for that, I am deeply grateful.”

Niall nods. “Thank you.”

They stand there for a moment before Harry clears his throat. “Listen, Niall, the last time we spoke, you asked me to forgive you for the violence that day at the mill, and I told you no.” Harry takes a deep breath. “I was wrong. I understand that it wasn’t your fault and that you expelled the man who did throw the stone. I didn’t see it at the time, but I forgive you now.”

Niall looks surprised, but then that surprise melts into a bright, joyful smile. He takes Harry’s hand in his again, shaking it enthusiastically. “Thank you so much, sir. That really means so much to me.”

“Harry,” he corrects. “Call me Harry.”

They share a smile of understanding when a member of the fire brigade approaches Harry.

“Excuse me, Mr. Styles,” the man says. “My name is Captain Pembroke. May I speak with you for a moment?”

“Yes, of course,” Harry says, nodding.

Niall steps away, and Harry feels Louis come to his side, his hand slipping into Harry’s.

Like Harry and Niall, Captain Pembroke’s face is blackened with ash, his beard thick with soot. Deep lines run under his eyes, showing his exhaustion. But Harry can also see relief in his expression, knowing that the fire has been put out.

Harry feels panic tighten his chest at the anticipation of finding out the extent of the damage.

“How bad is it, Captain?” Harry asks, unable to keep the tremor of fear out of his voice.

Captain Pembroke looks up at the mill, still smoking lightly. When he looks back at Harry, his expression is softer. “The mill is salvageable,” he says.

A strangled gasp of relief falls from Harry’s lips, and he and Louis embrace tightly. They’re going to be alright. They’re going to be alright.

“Thankfully, no one was inside,” Captain Pembroke continues. “And because we were able to contain the fire to the outer buildings, the damage was minimal.”

“It didn’t reach the main part of the mill?” Harry asks, disbelief and apprehension mixing in his voice. “It didn’t reach the spinning room?”

Captain Pembroke shakes his head. “No.”

Harry’s hand flies to his chest, as if in an attempt to keep his heart from beating out of his body. He presses the heel of his hand to his chest, feeling the rapid beating against his hand.

If the fire had reached the spinning room, Hampton would be lost. It would have been impossible to replace all the spinning mules, all the machinery. And if the fire had reached the warehouse where the cotton was kept, then Hampton would have been truly devastated. But that didn’t happen. They were able to contain the fire, and Hampton will continue.

“The fire just reached these outer buildings,” Captain Pembroke continues, gesturing towards the buildings.

“The dining hall,” Harry says, looking towards the mill. “And the storage building.” Although Harry feels endlessly thankful that the fire didn’t reach the spinning room, it still caused destruction of two significant buildings at the mill.

“Nothing that can’t be easily replaced,” Louis says quickly, reading Harry’s thoughts.

“You’re right,” Harry says, smiling in relief at Louis. He then turns to Captain Pembroke. “Do you have any idea what caused the fire?”

Captain Pembroke shakes his head. “We’re unsure at the moment, sir, but we’ll ask the police to conduct an investigation. It’s been such a dry autumn, it’s very likely a rogue cigarette caught flame and spread to the mill.”

Harry nods. “I understand.” He runs a hand through his hair, relief and exhaustion lifting him up yet weighing him down. “Thank you so much for stopping the fire.” Harry looks over at the rest of the fire brigade, and he resolves to thank each one of them individually for their tireless work. “You saved my mill, and I can’t even begin to say how thankful I am that you did.”

Captain Pembroke smiles. “We’re happy to do so, sir. And we were just glad we got here when we did. If we’d arrived any later, the fire would have spread and it would have been more difficult to contain.”

At Captain Pembroke’s words, Harry’s eyes widen, breath catching in his throat. “It was the fire alarms, wasn’t it?” Harry asks. “Niall heard the fire alarms going off and that was how he knew to call for the fire brigade.”

Louis gasps in understanding as Captain Pembroke nods. “Yes, the man who reported the fire said he woke up to the sound of fire alarms. And a good thing you have them too,” he continues. “So many of the places we’re called to don’t have them, and those seem to be the places that we can’t always save. Thankfully, more mills have been installing fire alarms, and I say that’s how it should be.”

Harry laughs, joy and relief filling his body. “Yes, Captain, I daresay I agree.”

Harry shakes Captain Pembroke’s hand, thanking him again. When he walks away, Harry turns to Louis.

“The fire alarms saved Hampton,” Harry says in awe, reaching out to touch Louis’ face. “It was _you_ , Louis. You saved Hampton.”

Louis shakes his head, a wobbly smile on his lips. “No, my love. They never would have been installed without you. It’s _you_ who saved Hampton.”

Harry feels tears gather in his eyes, his smile also wobbling. He leans down to kiss Louis, relief and joy and gratitude all expressed in their press of lips. Their arms wrap tightly around one another, holding on as if they never want to let go.

“I love you so much,” Harry whispers thickly against Louis’ mouth. “I’m so happy that you came into my life.”

“I love you, too,” Louis replies, nose rubbing against Harry’s, breathing shallow. “My love, my mate.”

Harry smiles, kissing Louis again before pulling back just enough to speak. “Thank you for all you’ve done for Hampton, my love. You helped save her, but you also helped save me. You have given me so much love and joy, and a newfound sense of purpose. I –” Harry’s voice catches, thick with tears. “I could have lost my mill today, but even if I had, as long as you stayed by my side, I would still have everything I could ever need.”

“Harry,” Louis breathes, hands gentle on his face. “I felt so lost before I met you. Nowhere felt like home, and then I found you, and just – there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than in your arms.” His hand slides down Harry’s neck, resting on his chest over his heart. Harry wonders if he can feel each heartbeat, and how each one is for Louis. “You are my home, and I will forever be yours.”

Harry takes Louis’ hand resting over his heart and presses a kiss to his fingertips. Louis’ hand then slips around Harry’s neck, tucking their bodies together.

Harry and Louis stay close together, just holding one another, feeling relief and joy and love coursing through their bodies. Hampton is safe, and Harry and Louis are together. Harry knows they have lots of work ahead of them, restoring and rebuilding the lost parts of the mill. But Harry knows he will have Louis by his side through all of it, and that will be enough.

 


	5. Epilogue

_Manchester, England. April 1886._

The mill is filled with snow.

Harry steps into Hampton on a cool, spring morning, the sound of the spinning mules and the great wheels greeting him. Cotton fluff floats in the air, but it is not the thick cloud it once was. Instead, it is a light dusting, the great wheels blowing most of the snow away. Some of his workers smile at him, nodding at him, as he passes by. Harry smiles back, even able to greet some of them by name. He’s taken it upon himself to learn.

He sees Niall across the spinning room, and Harry walks up to him.

“Good morning, Niall,” Harry says.

“Good morning,” Niall replies. “Everything is looking good today.”

“Excellent.”

At the start of the new year, Robertson had left his post at Hampton to move down to Birmingham to be closer to his family. While Harry was disappointed to see his overlooker go, it had opened up a new position at the mill. And Harry had known just the man to fill it.

“Big day today, isn’t it?” Niall says, eyebrows lifted at Harry, a knowing glint in his eyes.

“If you mean the reopening of the dining hall then you’d be correct,” Harry replies neutrally, but his lips quirk up into a smile.

“That’s not what I mean in the slightest and you know it,” Niall replies.

Harry grins. Ever since the fire, Harry and Niall have formed a strong friendship. Several months ago, Harry and Louis had decided to host a dinner for everyone who helped in the effort to stop the fire. By giving one another a chance, Harry learned how much he and Niall had in common. They have a similar sense of humor, and Harry quickly learned how easy it is to make Niall laugh.

Niall and his family have become frequent guests at Harry and Louis’ home, and they are often joined by the Payne family as well. Louis, Victoria, and Annie have formed a close bond, and the two girls absolutely adore Louis. He is always quick to make them laugh, and he sings songs and plays games with them. But they have him wrapped around his finger as well, so Harry supposes it balances out. Harry finds that Liam is a steady presence, kind and friendly, but can be a bit mischievous when paired up with Niall and Louis. Mrs. Payne has also become a friend of Harry’s. Like her husband, she is kind, but a bit quieter than him. She has made a full recovery from her injury, and has found work as a maid in a large house. Harry nearly wept with joy the day she told him of her new position.

As Harry got to know Liam and Niall and their families, he realized how much he appreciated building new friendships. When he was a child, friendships were never a priority. Everything was about educating him for his future, to be able to take over the mill. He had his family, and he had people he knew and liked, but Harry had so rarely had people who were just friends.

As Niall smiles knowingly at Harry, he feels a newly familiar sense of gratitude towards his friend that makes him smile in return.

“But if something big was happening today,” Harry says slowly while Niall snorts, “is everything ready and prepared?”

Niall laughs, clapping Harry on the back. “Everything is ready, and everything will be perfect.”

“I hope so,” Harry says, chest tightening with nerves as he thinks about the day ahead.

Niall’s gaze softens, turning from a smirk to a reassuring smile. “I know so.”

Harry smiles, Niall’s simple words reassuring him. “Thank you, Niall,” Harry says. Then he clears his throat, affecting his professional persona. “Alright, back to work. No more slacking.”

Niall laughs, giving Harry a mock salute. “Of course, sir.”

Harry salutes back, trying to stifle a laugh as he does so. “I’ll see you at the luncheon, yes?”

Niall nods. “I’m looking forward to seeing how the new dining hall looks.”

“I think you’ll be impressed.”

“I better be.”

Harry heads into the dining hall, a smile on his face and only a slight shake in his hands.

Niall is right – today is a big day. Hampton is opening the newly rebuilt dining hall, and holding a luncheon there to thank everyone who helped in the effort to stop the fire and to rebuild afterwards.

Hampton never stopped running during the reconstruction of the fire damaged buildings, which meant Harry was extremely busy overseeing both. Louis worked with him tirelessly in clearing away the fire damage and then hiring a team to rebuild the destroyed buildings. Many people came together to help and support them, and Harry had felt a true sense of community in seeing his family, his mate, his newly made friends, and his workers come together to help restore Hampton.

And today, with the dining hall officially reopening, Hampton will finally be completely restored.

The morning passes in a haze of last minute details and making sure everything is running smoothly. The dining hall is larger than the last one, the space more open with better lighting. Wooden tables and benches still line the room, but the wood is new and well sanded. The dining hall will be able to hold all of his workers as they take their lunch and provide them with a comfortable place to rest before their shifts begin again.

Harry plans to take lunch with his workers more often during the week. Befriending Niall has been a gateway into getting to know some of the other workers at Hampton. Although many were reserved at first to Harry’s presence, they have slowly warmed up to him. While Harry still works to maintain professional boundaries, he is more intentional about showing an active interest in his workers’ lives. Doing so allows him to see them as people, and not just cogs in a well-run machine.

“Well, everything looks wonderful here,” a familiar voice says.

Harry turns, a smile on his face before he even sees Louis.

Louis grins at him, walking to his side and giving him a kiss in greeting. His arm slips around Harry’s waist, fingers gently playing with the soft padding of Harry’s hip.

“Is everything ready?” Louis asks, looking around the dining hall. The room is clean and decorated, and the delicious smell of a freshly cooked lunch wafts from the kitchens.

“I believe so,” Harry replies. “We have enough food to feed the whole mill and all our guests, and the last minute problems with the glass installation for the windows were taken care of.” Harry bounces on his toes, excitement and anticipation filling him to the brim.

“Good,” Louis replies. “I’m excited for the meal. I’m starving.”

Harry huffs a laugh, kissing the top of Louis’ head. “I bet if you snuck back to the kitchen you could convince the cook to give you a sampling.”

Louis laughs. “I used to do that when I was growing up, and our cook always threatened to hit me on the head with her rolling pin. I drove her crazy always asking for sweets right before dinner.”

“But will that stop you today?” Harry ponders.

“Yes,” Louis replies, a smile in his voice. “I learned my lesson.”

Harry hides his smile in Louis’ hair, hugging Louis tightly to him. “Did you see Niall when you came in?”

“No,” Louis says. “I came straight in here looking for you. Why? Does he need me?”

“No,” Harry answers quickly. “No, he doesn’t. I was just wondering.”

“So you’re asking for no reason?” Louis asks skeptically.

“Yes.”

Louis pulls away so that Harry can see his eye roll. “Alright, keep your poorly hidden secrets. This is as bad as my birthday all over again.”

“I wanted to surprise you!”

“You asking me if I’d ever been to Scotland and then asking me five minutes later to keep the week before my birthday free was not the most effective way to surprise me.”

“Well, I wanted to make sure it was something you’d want to do before I surprised you with it.”

Louis smirks, his eye roll fond this time. “You ridiculous man, we could take a carriage ride around town and I would have a wonderful time as long as I was with you.”

Harry smiles, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to Louis’ lips. “I’ll keep that in mind for the future.”

Louis laughs and is about to respond when a kitchen worker approaches Harry, a frazzled expression on her face.

“Go put out the fire,” Louis tells him, squeezing Harry’s waist. Louis pauses at Harry’s scoff, rethinking his word choice. “Go put out the metaphorical fire. I’ll go bother Niall and see if I can pry from him whatever you’re not telling me.”

“Sounds good,” Harry agrees, giving Louis a quick kiss. “I’ll see you at the luncheon.”

“Yes, of course,” Louis says as Harry is dragged towards the kitchen.

Final preparations are made as guests begin to arrive at the dining hall. Harry greets them all, the faces familiar to him. Many of his guests helped with Hampton’s restoration – whether that be through physical labor or monetary donations. Harry wouldn’t have been able to do it without any of them, and his gratitude is as endless as a river pouring into an ocean.

Louis joins his side as they greet their guests with firm handshakes or kisses on cheeks.

Harry smiles as three familiar faces come through the door.

“Hello!” Harry exclaims, embracing Gemma and Isobel. “I’m so happy you came!”

Gemma kisses his cheek. “As if we’d ever pass up a free meal.”

“Exactly,” Isobel agrees, smirking.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Whatever your motivation, I’m glad you’re here.”

Gemma and Isobel agree, stepping aside for Harry’s mother to come forward.

“Mother!” Harry says, embracing Anne. “I’m so happy you made it!”

“Of course,” Anne replies, touching Harry’s face fondly. She looks around the dining hall, a smile on her lips. “It’s magnificent, darling. Your grandfather would be so proud.”

Harry feels a jolt in his chest, his heart climbing to his throat. He suddenly feels like a child again, seeking the approval of those he looks up to. “Do you really think so?”

Anne nods. “You have his same spirit. You always fight, you never give up. For Hampton to have faced a strike and a fire in the same year, but for you to come back from both even greater than you were before, he would have been so proud of you.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Harry says. He takes her hand from his cheek and kisses her knuckles. Quietly, and without looking into her eyes, Harry asks, “Are you proud of me?”

Anne squeezes his hand before reaching out to lift up his chin. When he meets her eyes, Harry can see the answer clearly written in her expression.

“My darling boy,” she replies, voice thick, eyes shining. “Being your mother has been my life’s greatest joy. I couldn’t be prouder of you if I tried.”

Harry sniffs, overwhelmed yet calmed by his mother’s words. “Thank you,” he replies, embracing her again.

Anne moves on to Louis next, as Harry has other guests to greet. But as soon as Anne has taken her seat, Louis reaches over to take Harry’s hand. He squeezes gently, an unspoken gesture of comfort.

The dining hall becomes crowded with people, friends and family and workers alike. The hall is filled with a pleasant buzz of sound, people from all classes mingling happily.

Harry approaches the front of the room, and as he does, the crowd bursts into applause. Harry blushes, some of the workers in the back cheering loudly for him. Harry catches Louis’ eye, sitting next to his mother. Louis smiles up at him, beaming with pride.

Harry smiles back at Louis, shared just between the two of them, before he looks out at the crowded hall. His heart is overwhelmed with gratitude. All these people have stood by his side in the past couple of months. He had a community around him, building him up and supporting him. This lunch is a poor attempt at capturing the extent of Harry’s gratitude for them, but it’s a start.

“Hello, everyone,” Harry says as the applause dies down. “Thank you so much to everyone who is here today: my friends, my family, members of the community, everyone who works at Hampton, and my mate. I welcome you all.”

Harry pauses as the room bursts into applause again. Harry smiles, happiness ballooning in his chest freely and uncontrollably.

“This past year, Hampton has faced some tough times,” Harry continues. “Strike, fire, horrible injury. There have been moments when I believed Hampton was lost forever.

“I used to think that this mill was all I had. It was the only consistent part of my life. That as long as Hampton ran, nothing else mattered.” Harry catches Louis’ eye briefly, but then he has to look away, knowing he won’t be able to continue if he holds Louis’ gaze. “But this past year changed that. I learned the value of relying on others, of asking for help. That I don’t have to do it alone, but that I have a community around me that is there to help me, that wants what’s best for me. And that community, I have learned, is what is most important.

“Being able to help others, and have others help me, has taught me the value of my fellow person. Because we are all here together, and no one is alone.”

Harry looks at Louis again, and this time, he holds his gaze. “I don’t know if he knows it or not, but today is the year anniversary of when Mr. Louis Tomlinson and I first struck an agreement to improve Hampton.” Harry sees Louis’ eyes widen with surprise, a fond smile on his lips. “I don’t think either of us knew at the time what that agreement would bring us. Louis has taught me so much about the goodness of others and how working together can bring about the most beautiful of rewards. I thank you for that, Louis, and for everything else you have given me. I love you.”

The crowd bursts into cheers, but all Harry can see is Louis’ watery smile as he mouths the words, “I love you, too.”

When the hall quiets again, Harry takes a deep breath, trying to pull himself together. “As well, I want to thank everyone that is here today. Each and every one of you is here because of what you have given Hampton. Whether that is your work every day to keep the mill running or your work in restoring Hampton after the fire or your monetary contributions, I thank you. We wouldn’t have been able to rebuild without your help and support, and for that, I am truly and eternally grateful.”

Harry looks around the room, his eyes falling on so many happy and familiar faces: his mother, Gemma and Isobel, the Paynes, Niall, his investors, his workers. These are his people, his community.

“This dining hall,” Harry continues, “it is not just for Hampton, but a space for everyone here. Each and every one of you is always welcome here. You will always have a place at our table. The kitchen is open; please enjoy your meal and know that this could not be done without you. Thank you.”

The whole room bursts into applause, the cheers shaking the rafters. A sea of smiling faces looks back at Harry, everyone just as happy to be here and see Hampton’s growth as he is.

The lunch is delicious, although Harry doesn’t get to eat much of it. He’s too busy talking and laughing with all those around him. He makes the rounds to different tables, greeting his guests. He thanks them, and they praise how splendid the new dining hall is, how well Hampton has recovered. Harry is surrounded by the people closest to him, and he knows that the words he spoke were true – he would not have Hampton anymore without them.

“Make sure you eat something,” Louis insists, when Harry finally sits down next to him.

Harry grins at Louis, too overwhelmed with joy to reply. Instead, he kisses his mate’s cheek before digging into his lunch.

Towards the end of the meal, Harry catches Niall’s eye. Their eyes meet, and Harry watches as Niall slips out the door, heading back into the main part of the mill. Harry’s pulse quickens, but he quickly distracts himself by engaging one of his investors in conversation.

Harry has given his workers a half day to celebrate the opening of the dining hall, so it slowly begins to clear out as people finish their meals and head home. His workers and guests stop by his table one last time before they leave, thanking him for the meal and telling him how happy they are for him.

“Shall we move to the pub?” Gemma proposes when it’s only their friends and family remaining. She eyes Harry, a smile on her lips. “We can have a proper celebration there.”

“That sounds enjoyable,” Liam agrees. He glances at his wife. “Christine’s mother is taking care of the girls, so we don’t need to head home straight away.”

“I’d love that,” Louis says.

All eyes turn to Harry, and he feels a momentary panic, having not anticipated this turn of events. “Um,” he says eloquently. He looks up to see Niall enter the room, a smile on his face. Their eyes meet, Niall nods, and Harry knows what to do.

“Yes, the pub sounds wonderful,” Harry agrees.

Everyone cheers, and they stand up to go.

Harry puts a hand on Louis’ arm. “Will you come up to the office with me?” Harry asks. “I left some paperwork up there I need to grab before we go.”

Louis lifts an eyebrow. “Why do you need to get your paperwork? Leave it for tomorrow.” Louis smirks. “I’m not going to let you work when we get home anyways.”

Harry swallows noisily, but doesn’t back down. “It’ll just take a moment,” he insists.

“Fine,” Louis concedes, hand slipping into Harry’s.

“Louis and I will meet you there,” Harry announces, purposefully avoiding Niall’s eyes. “I need to get something from my office first.”

“We can wait for you if you want?” Gemma suggests.

Harry opens his mouth to protest, but Niall quickly jumps in. “No, no. Let’s go on and we can go ahead and get a table and our drinks.” He shoos everyone towards the door, casting a quick glance back to Harry. “We’ll see you there.”

“Sounds good,” Harry agrees, and begins walking towards the door.

Louis leans into his side, a smile on his face. “I think the luncheon went well, don’t you?”

“I do,” Harry agrees, feeling distracted.

Louis begins telling Harry about some of the people he talked with during the lunch, and the nice things they said about both Harry and Hampton. Harry does his best to listen, but his blood is rushing so loudly in his ears, it’s like he can only hear Louis’ every other word.

They walk down the corridor, passing the door to the spinning room, quiet and still for the day. Harry and Louis walk up the stairs to Harry’s office, but he stops right outside the door.

“Louis,” Harry says, interrupting Louis’ story. Louis looks up at him, curious.

Without waiting any longer, Harry pushes the door open.

His office is covered in rose petals, scattered across the floor, the desk, and the chairs. It looks like a sea of roses, covering everything like a blanket. The lamps glow softly, creating an intimate ambience.

Louis steps inside tentatively, dropping Harry’s hand. He looks around the room, eyes wide and lips parted, an awed expression on his face.

“Harry,” Louis breathes, voice thick.

Harry closes the door behind them and steps towards Louis, joining their hands. They face one another, and as Harry gazes at the man he loves, he feels his heart lodge in his throat.

“Louis,” Harry begins softly. “It was a year ago that you and I sat in this office and agreed to work together. We had our differences at the time, and we weren’t sure of one another, but we knew something even then – we could create something great if we worked together.”

Louis gives Harry a watery smile, nodding.

“You always say that I took a chance on you and the MMIC, and Louis, I’m so happy I did. Not just because of what you did for the mill, but because if I hadn’t, we never would have fallen in love. But not only that, I am so thankful that you took a chance on me. That you saw something in me and knew something great could come of us working together.

“You are the greatest part of my life. You bring joy to everyone who meets you, and I feel as if I have been the greatest recipient. Every day I fall a little more in love with you.”

Harry brings Louis’ hands to his mouth, kissing his knuckles.

Then, carefully, Harry lowers himself to one knee, Louis’ hand still clasped in his. He reaches into his pocket with his other hand, and pulls out a ring.

“I will love you for the rest of my life. You are my mate, and that in itself is the most amazing blessing. But I want to be yours and for you to be mine in every possible way. I also want you to become my husband.” Harry takes a deep breath, looking up at Louis. Louis smiles happily at him, eyes swimming with tears. “Louis Tomlinson, will you marry me?”

“Yes, yes!” Louis exclaims, voice shaking with joy.

Harry’s heart leaps in his chest and he places the ring on Louis’ finger. Then he hastily stands up, gathering Louis into his arms, and kisses him.

They pledge themselves for life as they kiss, their tears mixing together. Harry’s hands shake as he holds onto Louis, hardly able to believe that he will be able to call this man his for the rest of his life.

“You have given me everything,” Harry says, kissing Louis again. “I love you, I love you.”

“I love you so much,” Louis whispers against Harry’s lips. He touches Harry’s face, fingers trembling, before they meet again for another kiss. “My love, my alpha, my mate, my fiancé. For life.”

“For life,” Harry agrees, voice filled with awe.

They meet again for another kiss, their joined souls rejoicing in a perfect celebration.

In the past year, Harry wanted to become greater. He wanted his mill to become the greatest in Manchester, to thrive and grow. He accomplished that, and by doing so, made himself even greater. He proved that he could come back from witnessing a horrible injury, facing a strike, and defeating a fire. He made himself greater.

But by far, even more so than the mill or its profit, Louis made Harry even greater, and together, they are the greatest of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
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> 
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